


The Fool, The Hermit and Death

by ZombiePunkRat



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-06 04:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10325648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZombiePunkRat/pseuds/ZombiePunkRat
Summary: The Raven King never took magic from England, but that does not mean that it free for everyone to study and perform. For magic is strictly meant for the talented, wealthy and connected, none of which John Segundus found himself. But when John Childermass offers him the opportunity of a lifetime, how can he refuse? But Segundus finds that not even the knowledge of his mentor is enough to have England’s magicians accept him. And when certain events drive each to desperation, one makes a decision that both will come to regret. A decision that leaves both without hope.Inspired by Bachabooska and their awesome video: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiP26HNl8bU&list=WL&index=21). Somethings may have been changed around to fit the story I plan to tell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sorcerer's Apprentice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5038477) by [bachaboska](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bachaboska/pseuds/bachaboska). 



**Chapter 1:** _A Mother's Belief_

 

Magic, the one thing in the world that John Segundus ever truly desired. His mother, a woman who could see rays of light in the darkest of clouds, had always told him that he was to become a great magician; that he would one day bring magic to everyone of England. Surely, this mindset would not bode well with many of the people of England, especially the ones who dared call themselves magicians. For English magic was only meant for the talented, wealthy, or connected, each, a category John Segundus could not see himself belonging to. John Segundus was a child of curiosity, perhaps a little too much so for his own good, which his father would often feel the need to remind him of. He had always asked why he was not allowed to study or practice magic and would either be answered with laughter or simply become ignored, that was until he asked his mother.

“It is those greedy men, love. They lock their books of magic away in their private libraries, not letting a soul see them. Not giving the slightest chance to people who truly desire magic, the ones who truly are destined to become magicians. But it is your responsibility, if you truly wish to become a man of magic, to keep pursuing, never let anyone dissuade you. And to never stop asking questions,” she would say, wiping the tears from young John’s cheeks after a particularly grueling day of grammar school.

But, six months later there was no one to wipe away his tears, no hands to brush through his hair as he slept, no one to tell him to keep asking questions. He was left behind. He was alone. Orphaned at such a young age gained pity from his neighbors and anyone he would come to meet, something that a young Segundus was not in need of. Eventually, he stopped speaking of it, partially due to the sad glances he would yield, and partially because of how painful it became to mutter. Although his mouth forgot, his heart always remembered what his mother taught him. He always remembered to always pursue, never let anyone to dissuade him, and to never stop asking questions.

England 1806

The air was thin and cold, leaving many with red noses and chilled fingers as they desperately wrapped scarves around their necks. Frost crept along windows and up the cobblestone streets, not breaking until something was thrown upon it. Something such as John Segundus’ body.

“We’ve told you before! We keep telling you! But you still insist on coming back! Do not attempt to return again Mr. Segundus!” The old man said before slamming the door closed behind him, leaving Segundus outside laying on the cold and damp cobblestone streets.

“Oh! Mr. Segundus! Are you alright?” John heard a familiar and older voice ask as someone quickly scurried over to him.

“I am quite alright, Mr. Honeyfoot. Just a little bruising, thanks to these men WHO REFUSE ENGLAND IT'S MAGIC!” Segundus said, rising to a shout for the men inside the society to hear.

The older and shorter man quickly held his hand out to his younger and taller companion and helped him off of the street, with John adjusting his jacket as he stood. Honeyfoot was easily Segundus’ closest, and perhaps only friend; ever since they met at the ‘Society of York Magicians’, just before Segundus was thrown out for the first time of course. Honeyfoot heard Segundus’ argument and agreed that it was unfair, so much so that he refused his membership to the society and its magic until the rest of the country was allowed to study the same. This allowed him to assist the young Mr. Segundus on his journey to study magic, a journey he has yet to begin as it would seem.

“I admire your determination, Mr. Segundus, but this consistency of being thrown out is not getting you anywhere. Not to mention it being extremely dangerous, what if you were to hit your head?” Honeyfoot asked, dusting some frost off of Segundus’ shoulder.

“I know, I know. But one day, I will make them see,” Segundus began, looking up at the sign that hung above the ‘Society of York Magicians’ door. “One day they will have no choice but to accept every magician in England.”

Just as the two men turned around to walk back to their homes, something caught Segundus’ attention.

“Hello? Sir?” Segundus asked, creeping closer to something he saw in between two conjoined buildings, decorated with ivy. Just as he was about to reach his hand out, a shadow began to move, causing Segundus to jump back in surprise.

Both men watched as the once shadow evolved into a man, who kept his head down and stepped in front of the two men. The man was tall with long dark hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, but the loose strands did not hesitate to dangle in front of his face. As he positioned himself in front of the two men, slowly lifting his head, the brim his hat revealed his face from gruff chin to sprawled hairline. His eyes were the first thing that caught Segundus’ attention, not his irises, but instead the bags that surrounded them. They revealed to him a man who did not sleep often, nor regular, who may have seen more than most men will see in their entire lifetime. A man that never stayed in one place for too long.

“How did you do that!? You were but a shadow just moments earlier!” Honeyfoot asked, excitement filling his voice.

“You’re thrown out of that building nearly every week. But, still, you choose to come back. Why?” The mysterious man asked Segundus, ignoring that old man’s question.  
Segundus was taken aback by both the man’s sudden question, and the deep growl of his voice. It was so polar to Segundus’ own light and small voice, where his could only be described as heavy and gravelly. The voice of a northerner.

“Excuse me?” Segundus asked, also wondering how this man would know that he came to the Society nearly every week.

“You ‘eard me,” the man said, in an almost threatening tone. Almost.

Segundus looked back at Mr. Honeyfoot who stood behind him, looking as if he were frightened of this man, this shadow. As he turned back around to face the man again, Segundus let out a small cough to clear his throat.

“Well,” he began, wringing his hands together as he attempted to formulate the right words, “my mother and I, we believe that magic is a right that everyone should possess. But there are certain people who disagree with our ideals, certain people who hold books of magic for themselves as they gorge on platters of pig and pineapple!”

Segundus paused, until he received a look from the man that showed he was listening, and resumed after a deep breath.

“My mother had told me that if I ever stopped pursuing, if I ever stopped asking questions; nothing would happen. And I cannot think of a crueler fate.”

The man was silent, only looking deep into Segundus, almost as if he were trying to see if his words were genuine. This perplexed Segundus, for he had nothing to hide from this man. Why would he lie to him?

“I am John Segundus, and this is my friend, Mr. Honeyfoot,” John quickly said, shooting his hand out in front of him towards the man, desperate to break the awkward silence.

There was another moment of silence as the man glanced down at Segundus’ hand before looking back up at his face, firmly gripping the man’s smaller bare hand. “Childermass. John Childermass.”

“Oh that is funny!” Honeyfoot interjected, having not said anything prior in the conversation.

Both men looked at the older man, one with embarrassment and the other impassiveness, before breaking from the handshake. John was a common name, but to have such contrasting people share it, gave great amusement to Mr. Honeyfoot.

The weather around the trio seemed to tense as John Childermass reached into his pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper, holding it out to Segundus between his glove covered fingers. Segundus warily took the slip of paper before unfolding it with his cold fingertips. Written on the slip was an address, a date and a time. The handwriting was so elegant that Segundus, for a moment, thought that someone else must have written it.

“What is this?” Segundus asked, looking up to find the man missing. Both men looked around them, but found no sign of John Childermass.

“What an odd fellow. What do you suppose that was all about?” Mr. Honeyfoot said, still glancing around half expecting to find the missing man.

“I haven’t the slightest idea, Mr. Honeyfoot. But I intend to find out.”


	2. The Man Before Him

John Segundus was lying when he said he wasn’t nervous. But he was honest when he told Mr. Honeyfoot that he would be very disappointed if he did not go, for his curiosity had to be satisfied. Sadly, Mr. Honeyfoot disagreed to join Mr. Segundus on his journey, and made the young man promise that he would be careful and when he returned, he would tell him everything. Mr. Honeyfoot’s words gave Segundus the impression that he was a little afraid of John Childermass, and for Segundus’ safety. This unnerved the fair man, but it did not stop him from hailing a coach and heading to the address the shadow gave him, Hurtfew Abbey. It took less than an hour to reach his destination, and when he stepped out of the carriage, the cold bit at him, leaving him shivering. Looking up, he was met by a large building with two solid wood doors. He could only assume that this was where he was supposed to be, and he didn’t want to be stuck in the cold any longer than he had to.   
Segundus took in a deep breath before racing up to the large wooden doors and knocking on the door lightly, his nerves still tingling. There was only a moment of silence before the door opened, revealing the face of the man he had seen earlier in the week.   
“You’re late,” Childermass said, nodding his head inside and opening the door, closing it as Segundus quickly passed him.   
“Only by three minutes sir,” Segundus defended.  
“Late,” he responded again, before walking away from the door as Segundus removed his brown coat, placing it on one of the hooks aside it.   
“Why have you asked me here, Mr. Childermass?” Segundus asked, trying to make sure his voice didn’t reveal anything of weakness.   
There was more silence, provided by Childermass, as he walked over to a small table that held a candelabra, lighting each candle before lifting it.   
“Follow me,” he said, turning away and walking deeper into the house.   
As Segundus followed him, he could sense a certain eeriness, an eeriness that made the walls creak, it was as if the house were aching. Suddenly, Childermass paused and glanced back at his shorter follower.   
“Stay close, the path is known to be a bit...convoluted,” he said, lifting the candelabra higher as the two men began to walk down a dark hallway.   
Segundus did as he was told, suddenly unnerved by Childermass’ statement. Perhaps he was a little close, for he could faintly smell soot and spiced ale, which he could only assume was from the man he followed. As they finally made it through the winding halls, they were released into a large room made of stone and stained glass windows, decorated from floor to ceiling in books. As Segundus walked into the room, he watched as Childermass placed down the candelabra and leaned himself against one of the stone pillars in the room. The atmosphere in this room was vastly different from the rest of the house, it felt relaxed and stable, while the rest felt as if it were straining to be there. It only took about a moment before Segundus quickly made his way over to the bookshelves, amazement filling his chest.  
“Leesburg… Denzel… Ormskirk! T-These, these are books of magic! How did you come to acquire these!? There must be more books in here than in the Society by tenfold!” Segundus said excitedly, almost shouting.   
“They came from a friend,” Childermass responded, his voice telling that he was not going to delve into the matter.   
“See what my enemy is doing presently, To cure a man of blindness, Cast ships in the rain!” Segundus read, each spell gaining more and more excitement from the man.   
“Mr. Childermass, you must share these books! This knowledge is of great significance, to both magic and all of England! We must-”   
“No,” Childermass interrupted, “We must not share this knowledge Mr. Segundus. The magician who owned these books before, kept them just as they are, and this is how they shall remain. For the only time he permitted any to be released from this library, 40 books of spells were lost.”   
“But, this is just what every magician in England does! They lock their books away in secrecy, not letting a soul lay their eyes upon them. Surely, you cannot allow this to continue.”   
“I do not intend to, Mr. Segundus. And this is why I have invited you ‘ere,” Childermass stated, pushing himself off of the stone pillar and walking over to Segundus. He took the books that Segundus had been holding from his grasp and continued to put them back into place. Segundus waited in silence for the man to continue his thought.   
“The man who owned these books before, he was a man that lived in fear and apprehension. And that is exactly how he left this earth, and I became in possession of his library. And I intend to change their purpose, but with books of such power and such knowledge, they need to be shared carefully. If placed into the wrong hands at the wrong time, can reap terrible and permanent consequences. Do you follow, Mr. Segundus?”  
“Yes, I believe I do sir,” Segundus replied quickly.  
“Good, now, shall we begin?” Childermass stated suddenly, walking over to a large table that sat at the back of the room, carrying the candelabra with him.   
“E-Excuse me? What are we to begin?” Segundus asked, following the long-haired man, utterly confused.   
“Your first lesson, Mr. Segundus. You did say you wanted to become a magician, did you not?”   
“More than anything. Magic is my life, sir,” Segundus replied, trying to contain his eagerness.   
“Let us get on with it then,” Childermass said, placing the candles onto the table and walking over to the stained glass windows.   
As he stepped over, Childermass placed his hands on the stone below them, and slowly shadows crawled up the wall and over the windows, darkening the room that imitated night. Segundus stared with awe as the man walked away as if he had just closed the curtains, showing his exposure to magic. As he walked over to the table, he removed a single candle from the candelabra and placed it on the wood before gesturing for Segundus to take a seat. As Segundus sat in the darkness, the single flame of the candle was his only source of light, as Childermass blew out the rest.   
“Now, put it out,” Childermass said, sitting at the table across from Segundus. Just as Segundus was about to lick his fingers to extinguish the flame, Childermass interrupted, “With magic, Mr. Segundus.”   
Suddenly embarrassed and bit flustered, Segundus responded with, “But, I do not know how.”   
“Of course you do, you just won’t allow yourself to,” Childermass stated in such confidence that it sounded as if it were fact.   
“And how would I allow myself to perform magic?”   
“Center yourself, relax, concentrate, and close yer eyes,” Childermass said, his voice softer than before.   
Segundus, once again, did as he was told. He closed his eyes, he took a deep breath, and centered himself. He did not feel anything, he just felt agitated. He sat like this for just over a minute before he finally peeked one eye open to find the light still ablaze and Childermass looking at him.   
“I cannot do it! I cannot blow out one bloody candle!” Segundus shouted, his frustration overcoming him.   
“That’s because you’re doing it wrong. You need to relax, Mr. Segundus. You are expecting magic to be some outside force that will do as it pleases. That is not how it works, magic is there for the magician, not the other way ‘round. It is your job to control it, and you will feel when you have done it. Now, again.”   
Without any room to argue, Segundus sighed and closed his eyes once more. At first there was only silence, with the exception of the crows cawing just outside the windows, but then Segundus began to feel something. He concentrated on the warmth that he could feel inside his chest, a warmth that felt familiar but gone, a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. Just as quickly as it arrived, the warmth suddenly disappeared, causing him to open his eyes suddenly. As his large eyes opened, he was presented with a pitch black room, only sensing the man in front of him.   
“Congratulations, Mr. Segundus,” Childermass said, as he released the shadows from the windows, allowing light to flood back into the room. “You are a magician.” 

That Evening 

“You are that strange man’s apprentice?” Honeyfoot asked, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.   
“His name is Childermass, Mr. Honeyfoot. Oh, you should have seen it! The amount of magical books that library held, I could hardly help myself!” Segundus said as he made his way from the kitchen to the dining room with a pot full of stew.   
John Segundus’ home was neither large nor small, cluttered nor spacious, it just was. Segundus supposed it was similar to himself in a way, nothing special but did it’s job.   
“You must have taken some of these books with you! Leaving them in that dusty old library is not like you, Mr. Segundus,” Honeyfoot said, lifting his bowl for Segundus to fill.   
“I was allowed to take one book with me. I am to study and perform one spell from it before tomorrow’s lesson,” Segundus said, pulling a book out from his satchel and placing it into Mr. Honeyfoot’s hands.   
“Who is this, Mr. Norrell?” Honeyfoot asked, turning the first page.   
“Who?”  
“It says here, Property of Mr. Gilbert Norrell,” Honeyfoot read, showing the elegant handwriting that was written out on the very first page, handwriting only slightly different from Childermass’.  
“He must have been the magician that owned the books before,” Segundus said, scooping some stew into his own bowl.   
“Before John Childermass? You mean to say that this isn’t his book?”  
“He said that he had inherited them, perhaps Mr. Norrell was a relative of his,” Segundus proposed.   
The rest of the evening, Segundus explained what had occurred at Yorkshire, how he had performed magic, the warmth he felt, everything. Honeyfoot had many questions, all of which Segundus were willing to answer to the best of his knowledge. But as the night moved on, Honeyfoot thanked him for the meal and bid his goodbyes, leaving Segundus alone in his home once again.   
“Right,” Segundus breathed to himself, making his way to the staircase. “Let us see what I will perform next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry if it seems a bit slow so far, I promise the good stuff will be coming soon! I just have to get things grounded first, then shit can start to go down. And the gay stuff can happen.


	3. Resurrection of a Sparrow

There was several minutes of Segundus flipping through the yellowing pages of the book before he found a spell that he felt was simple enough, and he had the supply for. He hurried over to a bookshelf that contained many miscellaneous items Segundus had never found himself in need of, until today that is. Scanning the objects, he finally laid eyes upon the objects he was searching for, a pile of small pipes. He had remembered receiving them from a distant friend, years ago, for his birthday. A friend who knew nothing of John Segundus it would seem, for he did not smoke, nor had any intention in doing so. Quickly, he grabbed a single pipe and carried it over to his desk, placing it down next to a copper basin he had already filled with water.   
‘Create smoke’, Segundus had read from the book of spells, it sounded straight forward enough. He propped up the book upon his desk, its pages easily visible from behind the basin. He was very unsure about himself, but he felt that if he has done a spell before, than surely he could again. Right?   
“Perhaps I am not to become a magician after all. Perhaps I will live in yellow tents for the rest of my life!” Segundus said to himself, utterly distraught after many hours of failure again and again.   
The spell instructed that the pipe be broken in two and placed within a basin of water, holding his hand over the object and smoke will appear. But nothing of the sort has occurred yet for John Segundus, the supposed magician’s apprentice. He quickly grabbed the broken pipe from the water and threw it on the pile of his other failures before pacing around the room. What was he doing wrong? He paced for several minutes before he finally was able to relax himself. He thought back to Hurtfew Abbey, back to what Childermass told him.   
He walked over to the shelf one last time, looking at the single pipe that was once at the bottom of a large pile. This was his last chance to perform the spell, he had to relax, he had to concentrate. He stepped over to the basin and cracked the pipe in half like he had so many times before, this time with less frustration. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, holding his hand over the water and relaxed. He was surprised when he felt the same warmth he had at Childermass’ home, he quickly focused on it, and focused on the pipe below his palm. Soon he felt the warmth grow and grow until his eyes eventually shot open and he looked down at the basin. He watched with excitement as smoke began to rise above the water and pour over the sides of the basin. He had did it! He had finally-  
Immediately a puff of smoke shot into his face, leaving it covered in black soot. He opened his eyes and sighed as the smoke disappeared. Of course. He glanced over to the side of his desk to find his clock facing him, and making him catch his breath as he read the time. It was morning! He had been practicing all night, and didn’t get a wink of sleep, which he knew he would come to regret later on. Then he remembered his lesson and quickly raced out the door with his book, coat and satchel, forgetting to check his face in the mirror first. The face that was covered in soot. 

Hurtfew Abbey

John Childermass heard knocking on the door just at the time he was expecting, and stepped over to the large wooden doors. He opened it and almost laughed as he saw the face he was greeted with, the face of John Segundus, covered in soot. He knew that Segundus had potential, he knew that he would sacrifice everything for what he loved, but if anyone else were to see the man in the state he was in presently, they would have seen him quite differently.  
“Went well, did it?” Childermass said, cracking a smile and earning a scowl from Segundus as he let him through the door.   
As Segundus figured out what caused him to smile, he quickly turned to a mirror and sighed as he saw the soot that covered his face. He lifted his hand and attempted to dust off the soot, but to no avail and only seemed to transfer the powder to his hands.   
“Here, let us get that off of your face,” Childermass said, gesturing for him to follow him into the kitchen.   
As Segundus followed, he told him of his attempts to create smoke, and all of his failings until that morning. As he continued to speak, Childermass handed him a damp washcloth to clean his face with as he finished his story.   
“It sounds to me that you let your excitement get the best of you, Mr. Segundus. You peeked before the spell was finished.”  
“How can I not? I, John Segundus am performing magic!”   
Childermass also knew that Segundus’ eagerness would get the better of him eventually, and here he was, washing his own soot off of his face. Still smiling in amusement at the situation, Childermass leaned against the counter top and crossed his arms as he waited for the man to finish. Segundus was a strange man, Childermass thought to himself, perhaps even stranger than he. He yells at the men of the Society when he has such a soft and small voice, surely he would never be able to intimidate anyone. His skin was so pale compared to his own, and his eyes were much larger, almost as if they were there to symbolize his curiosity. He would even go as far to say that the man was cute, so fragile looking but with such strong opinions, that he was surprised that someone hadn’t felt the need to beat the man yet.  
“Well, it seems that you need to practice more. The more you perform, the more concentrated you will become and the easier the magic will be,” Childermass said as Segundus finished cleaning his face.   
“Hm. Can I ask you something?” Segundus asked, placing the washcloth on the sink as he looked at his now clean face for anything that he might have missed. Responding with only a single nod, Childermass permitted him to continue.   
“In your books, they are signed on the first pages by a Mr. Norrell. Who was he? Was he a relative of yours?”   
There was a pause of silence, a thing Childermass seemed to be very good at, as he thought of how he should respond.   
“No,” he said abruptly, knowing that sooner or later he would be bound to find out, so why bother hiding the truth. “Mr. Norrell was my master.”  
“Master? You were his servant?” Segundus asked, seemingly taken aback by his new knowledge.   
There was yet another long silence. Childermass knew that Segundus believed him to be a wealthy gentleman that was meant to perform magic, not a magician’s servant who learned from his master’s books. But something about the look that Segundus gave him, told Childermass that this did not matter to him. As far as he knew this meant that this they were on the same ground.   
“Well, I am very glad you chose me to share his knowledge with, Mr. Childermass,” Segundus said, a small smile forming on his face.   
For the next week, Segundus would come for a lesson everyday, and everyday he was met with frustration until he finally was able to perform the spell. As time went on, his frustration diminished and he was able to perform greater and longer spells, spells that Childermass deemed safe enough to practice that was. By the end of the week he decided to give Segundus his first real challenge, his first resurrection spell.   
“You want me to do what?” Segundus asked through chattering teeth as he walked with Childermass through the autumn forest just outside of Yorkshire.   
It was the transition point between seasons and both men could feel it as the cold burrowed into their cores, with Segundus showing more discomfort than his teacher. Both men were dressed in long overcoats, looking a little more natural on the taller man than it did on Segundus.   
“I want you to bring something back to life,” Childermass said, scanning the autumn leaves of the forest floor for a specimen.   
Just as Segundus was about to ask another question, something by his feet caught his attention. There, lying peacefully on the red leaves of autumn, rested a small sparrow with a ripped wing, its chest facing the sky.   
“Poor thing,” Segundus said, kneeling down and cupping the small animal in his hands.   
Childermass watched as Segundus held the animal delicately in his palms, his fingers supporting its head into a resting position. It looked as if the animal belonged in the man’s pale hands; it bared a kind of resemblance to Segundus that he could not place but could not ignore.   
“Good, it’s wing will still be damaged, but it is fresh,” Childermass said with a neutral tone, a tone Segundus did not seem to appreciate as he held a dead creature.   
Childermass rolled his eyes and knelt next to his apprentice, pulling out a piece of paper from his overcoat and handing it to Segundus. He promptly placed the bird down gently and took the paper. Opening it, he quickly read its instructions and handed it back.   
“For such a small animal you will only need a drop, but for a bigger one, much more,” Childermass said, folding the paper once again.   
Segundus then searched in his pocket and pulled out a small tin, and when opened, it revealed a cluster of pins and needles. At the state of many of Segundus’ sleeves, it was obvious these must have been for a quick fix as many of his coats seemed to be fraying overtime. Segundus then picked one needle out and closed the tin before placing it back into his pocket. After a deep breath, Segundus quickly pricked his finger and squeezed a small drop of blood over the small sparrow’s ripped wing. After several moments of tense silence, both men watched as the bird twitched and quickly looked around, moving itself so it was able to stand again. It looked up at Segundus with a curious look before attempting to fly, only landing back on the earth, earning a look of sympathy from Segundus.   
“Good enough,” Childermass said, standing again, pretending to ignore the fact that Segundus continued to carry the bird as they made it back to the house.   
“You wouldn’t happen to have a cage would you, Childermass?” Segundus asked as he carried the bird in from the cold outdoors.   
“Birds are meant to live outside, Mr. Segundus,” Childermass sighed.   
“Not ones with ripped wings. Not to mention it will be winter soon, he will surely perish again if left out in the cold,” Segundus pleaded, looking down at the animal that he held in his palms.   
Finally Childermass gave in, he slowly walked up to the next floor and returned with a small bird cage with a handle on top. Sighing again as he handed it to the eager Mr. Segundus.   
“Thank you, Childermass. Now I should be going, Mr. Honeyfoot had promised me a meal with his family tonight and I do not intent to make them wait,” Segundus said, gently placing the bird inside the cage.   
There was a small silence before Segundus opened his mouth again, “would you like to join us?”  
“I feel I would find myself misplaced there. And tomorrow, there is no need to come here, Lady Godesdone has organized a soiree,” Childermass said, pronouncing the latter word with a hint of humor, as he watched Segundus put on his coat. “Do you have proper clothes for a party, Mr. Segundus? We will need to look as if we belong.”   
“A party? Well I do-oh, no. Um, there is a-no. I don’t believe so,” Segundus said, defeated at the admittance of his lack of wardrobe.   
“We will fix that in the morning, but for now, go home. You did well today,” Childermass said as he opened the door for Segundus and his new friend and closed it behind them.


	4. The Blind Mouse

London

It had taken most of the day for Childermass to find something suitable for Segundus to wear, for he had to blend in with the other magicians, as they liked to be called. It was especially difficult with Segundus refusing anything that cost more than a carriage ride, everything that would help him look as if he belonged. Eventually Childermass found a tawny colored tailcoat with large buttons in the front, with a white puff tie to wear around his neck, and immediately purchased it before he could hear Segundus protest. Childermass, on the other hand, wore what he always had at these kind of events, black. A black vest with a black tie, underneath a black overcoat.  
“What are we here to do, Childermass?” Segundus asked as both men sat inside the carriage, on their way to the event.   
“We’re here to mingle. To see what your true magicians are like,” Childermass responded, both sarcasm and bitterness tracing his words.   
Segundus knew that he was not telling him something, but he figured that there was most likely a reason, so he did not press it. But he couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable and nervous, they had not been invited and surely would not be allowed in, right? Just as Segundus was about to ask, Childermass pulled out two white slips of paper and handed one to him. He opened it to see in gold writing, You have been cordially invited to Mrs. Godesdone’s 13nth annual soiree of magicians! Where did Childermass come to acquire these? If he was a servant as he has said, surely he wouldn’t have received an invitation, much less two.   
“But I am not a magician, not in their context. Surely I will b-” Segundus began.  
“Have you performed magic, Mr. Segundus?”   
“Y-yes.”  
“Did you bring that bird back to life?”  
“Well… yes.”   
“Then you are just a magician as anyone else in that building.”   
This gave Segundus a kind of warmth that came with confidence, even if for only a moment, that made him feel that he belonged. The carriage soon came to a holt and the door was opened by their driver.   
“We have arrived, sirs,” he said in a subtle London accent.   
Still very nervous, Segundus clutched his invitation tightly as he walked aside Childermass. Both men made their way up the many stairs leading up to the doorway, where they were greeted by two men, gathering invitations. Childermass handed his to one of the men., his posture giving the illusion that he was actually invited and stepped inside the building. Segundus, on the other hand, had no such confidence as he sheepishly handed the man his invitation. For a moment, the man paused glancing at Segundus and his nervousness before rolling his eyes and letting him pass. Relief was quickly taken away as he stepped into the large building and was greeted by a tall room, led with a staircase, every step filled with loud party guests.   
“If you keep looking at everyone like that, they’re going to think you aren’t supposed to be here,” Childermass whispered as he scanned the room.   
“I’m not supposed-”   
“Let me introduce you to a friend of mine,” Childermass interrupted, leading Segundus into a side room; a study of sorts, although it did not look as if it were used as a study often.   
As Segundus stepped deeper into the house, he was struck with a dizzy feeling, he felt as if his head would turn backwards, but ignored it as he did not want to bring notice to himself.   
“Ah, Childermass! So glad you could join us!” Segundus heard an unfamiliar voice say from across the room as two figures approached them.   
He watched as a tall man with a lot of curly hair pulled a smaller woman with a defined and beautiful jaw behind him, who apologised for the man as they pushed through the crowd.   
“Jonathan Strange, a very prominent magician for all of England, fought in the war. This is John Segundus, my apprentice,” Childermass said, his voice impartial.   
“I wouldn’t exactly say prominent. It is nice to meet you, sir,” Jonathan said, holding his hand out to Segundus who quickly shook it. “And this is my wife, Arabella Strange.”   
“Hello Mr. Segundus,” the woman said, a friendly and kind smile on her face, “that is a lovely tailcoat!”   
“Thank you,” Segundus said, looking down at his clothing, as if he forgot what he was wearing. “You look very lovely as well.”   
Mrs. Strange gave Childermass a smirk and laughed. “Such nice manners, did you teach him that, Childermass?”   
“How have you been, Mrs. Strange?” Childermass asked, ignoring her question.   
As Childermass took over the conversation, another wave of dizziness shot into Segundus, causing him to shake his head back into concentration.   
“Well, I do wish you luck on your endeavors, Childermass,” Mr. Strange said giving a wink as if they shared the same secret, perhaps they did. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Segundus.”   
He nodded as the couple walked away, leaving him in the large crowd aside Childermass. Besides the sickening dizziness and claustrophobia, Segundus felt less stranded while standing with Childermass, he felt he wasn’t alone.   
That was until he lost him a few hours later. They had been traveling around the house, mingling, as Childermass liked to call it, and eventually Childermass was nowhere to be seen. Throughout the night, they would be trapped in a conversation, with Childermass taking over so not to draw attention to his shy companion, which Segundus greatly appreciated. But now he was exposed, and just in time for his dizziness to become more of a problem as it was much harder to ignore now.   
Get out, get away, he thought to himself as he pushed through the crowd of people on the top floor, barely being able to stand. He quickly was released and looked down the crowded staircase, there was no way he would be able to make it down to the front doors without falling or passing out, or both. Looking for a solution, he spotted a closed door on the floor just below him, surely that had to be empty. He took a deep breath, looked around for Childermass one last time before he pushed through the second crowd, using the walls and railings in an attempt to stay up. The dizziness became more and more intense as he moved deeper into the crowd, and even followed him as he quickly pushed into the empty room and shut the door behind him.   
“Thank God,” he said as he took in a deep breath and stumbled over to an empty chair, relief washing over him, but still feeling quite weezy.   
He was only allowed a few moments of peace before the door opened and two men allowed themselves in; so caught up in their own conversation, they did not notice the pale man slumped in the chair. Just as Segundus was about to get up, one of the men stopped talking and looked over.  
“And who might you be? I haven’t seen you before,” the taller man with red hair asked, looking the man up and down with heavy judgment.   
“I-I am John Segundus,” he began, finding it hard to speak for as soon as the men stepped into the room, he immediately felt his uneasiness return.   
“John Segundus? I have heard of you! You are that man who harrasses the magicians in York, insisting that you become a magician!” The shorter man said, almost unable to finish his sentence as he and his partner bust out into laughter.   
“Well, if y-you’ll...excuse me, I must b-be leaving,” Segundus struggled to say, pulling himself up and over to the door.   
Just as his hand reached the handle, the taller ginger man placed his hand on the door, keeping it from opening. Too weak to struggle, Segundus instead focused on staying on his feet.   
“I have friends in the ‘Society of York Magicians,’ don’t you as well, Drawlight?” the man asked the other.  
“Yes! Yes, friends who are quite annoyed with you, Mr. Segundus,” Drawlight said with a theatrical gesture.  
“I believe we should help our friends. Perhaps, we should deal with their rat problem for them,” the taller man said, backing Segundus away from the door, causing him to stumbled back, landing on the floor.   
“So clumsy, you should really look where you’re going. Don’t you agree, Lascelles?” Drawlight said, smiling with an almost cheshire grin as he watched the man on the floor struggle to sit up.   
Segundus was far too weak to stand, much less speak, leaving him in a state of struggling as he tried to yell at the men. But instead, he sat on the floor, looking up at the strange duo as they peered down at him with mischievous grins. He had been in situations similar to this in grammar school, but these men were magicians, there was so much more they could do to him.   
“Ah, have you heard that nursery rhyme, Drawlight? The three blind mice?” Lascelles began, “He does have very large eyes. Perhaps he will leave our friends alone if he cannot find them!”   
Just as Segundus was going to yell out in defense, he clutched his head as it felt his mind was being struck with needles. Looking back up he saw the strangest sight, Lascelles seemed to have a dark aura around his hand. But before he could do anything, Lascelles kneeled down and waved his hand over Segundus’ eyes, and when his hand past them, the room went black. 

Downstairs

Childermass did not usually worry, not since Mr. Norrell, but something in his chest was telling him that something was very wrong, just not what. Looking around he noticed something, Segundus was nowhere to be found. Childermass was just tall enough that he could see over most of the crowd but could not find Segundus anywhere in the sea of bobbing heads. Pushing through, he looked through almost every floor but found nothing, until he spotted Mr. and Mrs. Strange once again.   
“Childermass, how are you enjoying the party?” Mr. Strange asked as he spotted his friend walking towards them.   
“Have you seen Mr. Segundus?” Childermass asked the couple, who looked at each other for a moment, as if asking each other, without words, the same question.   
“I do believe I spotted him heading back down the stairway. Although he did not look very well, he was quite pale,” Mrs. Strange stated, a concerned look on her face as she noticed Childermass’.   
Childermas then turned away and proceeded to walk back down the stairs to the bottom floor, perhaps he went outside? Just as he was about to reach the other flight of stairs, something caught his attention. He could feel it, someone was performing magic. This should’ve been obvious, for they were at a party of magicians, of course there would be magic. But there was an unspoken rule, a rule that would mean magic should not have been here. A rule where magicians do not perform magic on each other, it was a kind of sign of respect, a sign that did not translate to people they did not see as being worthy. To his left he heard laughter coming from a closed door, a door that lead into the lounge.   
“Look at him squirm! Our little blind mouse lost his way it would seem!” Childermass heard a familiar and obnoxious voice come from the other side of the door.   
The voice he heard next made him swing the door open, the voice of that snake, Lascelles. The first thing he saw was the two standing men and a third sitting on the ground, and when he realized who each of the men were, he could feel his chest drop.   
“Childermass, how strange it is to see a servant occupy these parties so often,” Lascelles said, turning his attention away from his victim.   
On the floor between the men, sat John Segundus, who looked pale as a ghost, but that wasn’t what was wrong. His eyes, instead of their clear green, were replaced by a grey film that masked both his pupils and irises, the grey of a blind man. Childermass without thought grabbed Lascelles and threw his against the wall, his fists clenching the man's collar.   
“Oh, is he yours? Your master is gone and now you see it fit to get a servant of your own? How funny,” Lascelles said, glancing at his partner who stopped laughing as soon as Childermass shot him a glare.   
“Childermass? Is that you?” Segundus asked, his voice weak, as if his words could barely leave his lips.   
“He is not mine. Now, if you ever think of doing anything like this to any other magician, I will have the whole city know that Lascelles has no respect for English magic,” Childermass said through a growl, his voice being very threatening.   
If there was one thing Childermass knew about Lascelles, it was that his pride and social standing was of the utmost importance to him, if he didn’t have those, what did he have? Dropping the tall man, Childermass then turned over to Segundus and reached for his arms. At first he flinched, not realizing who it was, but then remembered Childermass was in the room and allowed himself to be assisted. Childermass couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy, he looked so helpless without his sight, desperately trying not to hit something and fall to the floor. But it wasn’t just his sight, his face was pale and his hands were cold, there was something else very wrong, and he had to get him out, fast.   
“What do you mean, any other magicians?” Lascelles asked, his voice holding the same arrogance it always had.


	5. The Way of John Segundus

He had to get him out without being seen. If they went through the crowds of people on the way to the front door, they were going to be bombarded with questions on what happened to the young blind man. And he didn’t need to give such a name for Segundus in the magic community, especially one where he had to be dragged out of a party, blind. As far as Childermass knew, there was only one solution. He shut his eyes and grabbed onto Segundus’ arms, concentrating. Several seconds pass and everything begins to slow down, the sounds of the party begin to grow silent, and soon enough everything had stopped.   
“What happened? Where is everyone?” Segundus asked, noticing the sudden silence.   
“I’ve frozen the building, but only long enough for us to get out,” Childermass stated, leading Segundus towards the door.   
Segundus was still very weak, but did put in an effort to stay standing and push through the crowds as Childermass led him.   
“I don’t know what happened. I-I just felt…” Segundus began. “I became dizzy, I couldn’t stand…It was the magic, I-I could feel it.”  
Childermass was silent. He could feel the magic?   
“I-I’m sorry, Childermass,” Segundus said, reaching his hand out to prevent anything from blocking his path.   
They broke out of a large crowd of frozen guests, who were stuck in their laughter and utter drunkenness, unaware of the ghosts that passed them. Childermass kept hold of Segundus so that he knew someone was there, and so he didn’t fall off one of the railings, that would not be fun for anyone. He looked down at Segundus for a moment, watching as his eyes as they darted around, looking for anything to look at but finding nothing.   
“Why are you sorry? Did you make yourself blind?” Childermass asked, pushing through the next crowd, grasping Segundus’ wrist behind him.   
“I should’ve defended myself, I should have done something. But instead I just… did nothing,” Segundus said, his voice full of disappointment. “You shouldn’t have had to come rescue me.”   
“We can talk about this when you can see again,” Childermass said, leading Segundus out into a clearing at the bottom floor.   
They were silent the whole time they sat in the carriage, heading back to Yorkshire. They heard the subtle sound of time returning to the manor as they rode further and further away. Childermass watched Segundus as he sat across from him, the blind man only being able to listen to the sound of the wheels on the road. 

Yorkshire

“This should do the trick,” Childermass said as he walked over to Segundus who sat on one of the chairs in the library.   
He had barely said anything since their return from the party, which made Childermass even more nervous; he did not know the entire story and didn’t know everything that was done to his apprentice. He pulled a book that Segundus had read when he first arrived, To cure a man of blindness. This was a particularly tricky spell, for it was meant to be taken both metaphorically and literally. He read through the instructions and knew what to do. He had to be careful, for if he did not physically cure him of blindness, then Segundus would succumb to many things Childermass did not want him to see or know. Sometimes it was easier to live in ignorance than know the truth; Childermass wish he had that luxury.   
He made his way over to Segundus and twisted his own thumbs together and whispered quietly into them. After holding them together for a few moments, he broke them apart and placed each onto Segundus’ eyelids. As he removed his thumbs, Segundus’ eyes fluttered open, and with every sudden blink, the grey film would dissolve.  
“Oh thank goodness,” Segundus said, looking at everything as if he were seeing it for the first time.   
“Thankfully, Lascelles is as idiotic as he is judgmental. He did not make the spell very strong, he probably assumed you would not be able to find someone willing to help you,” Childermass said, snapping the book close and placing it back onto its shelf.   
“Well he didn’t know I had you,” Segundus said, rubbing his eyes.   
Childermass was silent for a second, unsure what Segundus meant by his statement. He did not strike him as a flirtatious man, and did not press the matter.   
“Alright,” Childermass said, sitting on a chair opposite of Segundus, crossing his legs. “Tell me everything that ‘appened.”   
As Segundus explained the happenings that took place during the party, Childermass analyzed every word the man said. He could tell that he was diminishing the events so not to upset him, so that it didn't seem to be as a serious of a problem as it was. As Segundus finished, he could barely look at the man across from him.   
“You felt the magic?” Childermass asked, reviewing a previous statement in the story.   
“Yes, it made me quite sick. Could you feel it as well?” Segundus said, twisting his thumbs.   
“Only when I found you. But you said you felt it as soon as you entered the building,” Childermass said, his eyes focusing on the nervous man.   
“Yes, it was coming from all around, and when I got deeper into the crowds, I felt as if I would collapse,” Segundus said, reaching for his forehead as he remembered the experience.   
Childermass was silent for a moment, leaning back in his chair, thinking. What did this mean? There were few magicians who could feel magic when being performed, but to feel the magic that radiated around them, that was unheard of.   
“And then there’s the matter of Lascelles’ hand,” Segundus began. “It had a black smoke around it when he blinded me, it was very strange.”   
This caused Childermass to be at a lost for words. Black smoke? He could actually visibly see the spell? He had never read of anything like this in Norrell’s books, or even from Mr. Strange, who was well known for his ludicrous experiments and theories. But he couldn’t just tell him that what he was saying was impossible, for if his apprentice had said it, then it was true, that was the way of John Segundus.   
“Childermass?” He heard Segundus ask, his voice laced with concern. “You were in a daze for a moment.”  
“Sorry, lost in thought. Did you say something?”   
“Yes, I asked what we were doing in there in the first place? The party. Surely it wasn’t just to visit Mr. and Mrs. Strange, however a lovely pair.”   
Childermass was, once again, silent. He didn’t tell Segundus before because he already knew he wasn’t going to approve. But as his mother told him, he had to ask questions. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a small pile of scraps of paper, all of different assortments, some yellowed and older and others bright white and new. He looked as Segundus for a moment before handing them over.   
“The reason these magicians have these… soirees… is because it is how they trade and share what they’ve learned. And it’s also where I have my perfect opportunity,” Childermass said, shifting his gaze away from Segundus.   
“Opportunity to what?” Segundus asked, already faintly aware of the answer.  
“You know these men. You know how they lie, cheat and steal. It is only fair that I do the same,” Childermass said, his low gravelly voice holding his bitter tone.   
Segundus shifted through the small papers, glancing at what was written on each. Speak to trees, Ability to instantaneously understand any language for six minutes, Have it rain up. These were spells, spells that Childermass had taken from the magicians. As much as Segundus wanted to show magicians that there was so much more for English magic, he knew this was not the way.   
“You must return these,” Segundus said, quickly handing the spells back to Childermass.   
“What?” Childermass asked, the man’s sudden order catching him off guard.   
“You must give back what you have stolen.”  
“I don’t think you are in any position to be giving me orders, Mr. Segundus.”  
“If we lie, cheat and steal to get what we want, we are no better than the men we hope to change. We have to proceed with honor, with honesty,” Segundus said, his voice growing irritated.   
“Do you honestly think that will get you anywhere? Do you think this world has time for honor or honesty? This world will not wait to please you, Mr. Segundus! It will show you everything that is vile, everything that is true of man.” Childermass said, his voice raising to a shout.   
“The world will show you what you wish to see! If you wish to see the worst in man, then you will! But I will not ask to lurk in the shadows and judge, as you do oh so well! I chose to act!” Segundus shouted, standing from his chair.   
“Do it then. Act. But do not come running back ‘ere when you aren’t pleased with the outcome, Mr. Segundus,” Childermass said, his low growl giving severity to his words.   
Without saying another word, Segundus stormed out of the library, traversing the winding halls as if he could see what the spell was trying to hide. He was so infuriated that he nearly forgot his coat before he stomped over and tore it off the hook. He was only able to take a deep breath when he stepped outside. He was right, the world was not going to bend to his will. It was time to stop living in ignorance, it was time to act. And he knew exactly what he needed to do.  
Childermass sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. Perhaps he was too harsh, he knew how hopeful Segundus was and all he managed to do was rip it from him. And he knew, in the back of his mind, that Segundus was right. Although the world was not always fair, it did not mean that it didn’t deserve a chance. But that would have to wait until morning, for Childermass was far too tired to change the world tonight. 

Morning 

The sharp cawing of crows outside the manor slowly woke Childermass from his slumber, groaning as he sat up, rubbing his face awake. His room was lit by the early morning sunrise, bathing the walls in a soft yellow tone. He soon dressed and left for the kitchen, where he prepared his breakfast which consisted of toast and black tea. Normally, in a manor of this size, there would be at least two or three servants meant to upkeep it, but Childermass felt that there was no need to have anyone messing about the house, not when he could see to everything himself. But he did have to admit, it was quite lonely. He sat in silence, sipping his tea as he thought about the previous night, about what he had said to Segundus. This was just like him, when someone had the slightest amount of hope, he would smother it, showing the reality of the situation. And when someone became too close, who provided him with a weakness, he left. He knew that Segundus was not arrogant nor stupid, he knew that hope was perhaps the only thing the man had left, and he took that away.   
With a deep sigh, Childermass pushed his meal away, clearing a space as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small stack of cards, shuffling them, and placing them face down on the table. He had these cards for as long as he could remember, shown by the torn and bent edges with a few worn out illustrations. Anytime one of the cards became illegible, he would spend most of the night preparing the new one to replace it in the deck. He took a deep breath as he focused on what he wanted to know. He focused on Segundus.


	6. L'étoile

This was a smaller spread, a spread that would reveal just enough information regarding what was asked. Three cards: the situation, the action, the outcome. He felt a sudden wave of uneasiness as he held his hand over the first card; the cards were active, trying to tell him something. Although telling the fortune of someone who was not present was not usually how he conducted things, it seemed, for know, it was as it had to be.   
He flipped the first card, the situation. Jugement, he read, the card depicting the archangel, Gabriel, above a crowd of bodies, raised from their graves, praising him from below. From years of analyzing the many different interpretations of his cards, he was quickly able to understand its context. Judgement represented a need for change and reflection on a person's life, and in this context, John Segundus’ decision to become a magician. This was nothing new, what the next two cards revealed was really what he needed to know. Moving his hand to the next card, he could feel its sharp urgency radiating off of it, causing him to flip it quickly.  
La Tour, ‘the tower’. A large tower, struck by lightening as two figures fell out of it, was drawn on the card. This represented sudden change, or a rash decision, something that was usually accompanied with unwelcomed change. This justified Childermass’ uneasiness even more, for he knew this card was usually drawn with the querent being in a state of resentment or melancholy. “The tower” meant a great mistake would be made, and Segundus was at it’s base.   
He was even more hesitant to read the next, but knew he had asked them, and his cards were doing as they were told. Flipping the next card, he could feel his chest drop. L'étoile, ‘the star’, reversed. This was a card that surprised many as being one filled with negativity, at least when in John Childermass’ hands it seemed. The card showed a woman kneeling down next to a pond, holding two pitchers of water, meant to display the cycle of fertility. When reversed, the image was shown to be upside down, and the meaning was distorted or shifted. In this instance, it meant the sense of hope being replaced with despair and discouragement. There would be an occurrence that will send Segundus into a crevice of negativity and lost hope.   
Leaving his food on the kitchen table, Childermass stuffed his cards into his pocket, quickly ushering to the entranceway. He needed to find Segundus, he needed to figure out whatever he had planned, and finish it before it began. As he reached for his overcoat on the racks, his foot hit something on the floor, sending a subtle metallic sound echo through the room. Looking down, he was met with the image of a familiar small tin box laying, closed, on the ground. Reaching down, picking up the item, Childermass opened it to reveal the same mess of pins he had seen before, but he then noticed an additional item inside. A small slip of paper was folded underneath the pins and needles, which made it very difficult to pull out without causing a mess. Once released, Childermass opened the slip to reveal something very familiar, something he did not expect to find.   
The small slip of paper had written on it, a location, date and time, in Childermass’ handwriting. The same paper he had given Segundus when he had first met him outside of ‘The Society of York Magicians.’ Why did he keep this? They had their meeting, it was of no use to him anymore, nor have any new information that would be of use to Segundus in the future. There was something in the back of his mind that knew why, but he shook it off, surely that was not it. Things as pleasant as affection and love did not occur to John Childermass. He put the item back, closing the box and placing it in his pocket before walking out into the cold english air.   
Childermass did not prefer carriage like most englishmen did, instead he rode on horseback as much as possible. On horseback, Childermass found that he felt more in control, more at peace, in contrast to the small confines of a carriage. But recently, due to the presence of his apprentice, he found himself stuck being driven around more often. He wasted no time in reaching York, arriving in front of John Segundus’ home just under an hour.   
He hitched his horse and quickly stepped up to Segundus’ door, landing three hard knocks on the wood before it creaked open. This put a weight in his stomach that he could not ignore. He placed his hand on the door and slowly pushed the rest of it open, revealing Segundus’ small living area. It housed a small table and a kitchen to the right, and a small living area to the left, with a large chair and plenty of books sprawled out around it. Passing these areas, Childermass made his way to the back, where he found a small staircase, leading up to an additional room. He quickly reached the top of the steps and opened the door, revealing a small study cluttered with many different miscellaneous items.   
When he entered the room, he heard the sharp sound of the small bird Segundus had resurrected chirping in the corner at his presence. He glanced over to the bird and its chirping ceased, leaving the room in a stiff silence. Childermass dodged chimes and other strange items hanging from the ceiling as he made his way through the room, looking around to find anything that would reveal where Segundus had gone. He paused when he reached the desk, covered in different books Childermass had permitted Segundus to take with him, for he had understood their importance and took great care in them. But something caught his attention, a certain book with a green spine, a book Childermass had not permitted Segundus to take. It laid open on the desk, atop of all the others, with a page torn out of it. He recognized every book and knew every spell that was left behind by Norell, and when he recognised the spell, Childermass ran out of the small house and quickly jumped on his horse. 

York Cathedral 

“Do it then. Act.” His own words rung in his head as he sped through the cobblestone streets, the words that caused this whole situation in the first place. Childermass was not one who was usually for regret, but now, he was definitely feeling it. It was still day, but the autumn weather caused the clouds to roll in and darken the atmosphere, causing it to resemble dusk. He arrived to the place he knew he had to be, the best place in York to perform the spell, the York Cathedral. He could hear voices from inside, with a particular voice echoing over the others as he spoke, Mr. Honeyfoot. Hitching his horse once again, Childermass quickly made it up the stairs of the cathedral, sliding in between the large doors at its entrance. He quickly walked through the building, led by the voices he heard, before a man screaming as he ran past him snapped him out of his thought.   
He stopped to watch as the man ran out of the doors, and then quickly resumed to make it to the crowd of people he saw before him. The spell Segundus had taken, if performed by an experienced magician, had no adverse effects, but if performed by anyone else, there were rumors that there were permanent results. The most common being madness. As he made it to the crowd of Englishmen, something grabbed Childermass’ attention once again. A deep voice began to yell at the men in what seemed to be Latin, but it was coming from the walls, from one of the statues. He did it, he was performing the spell. Childermass looked around at the group of men, disperse as they were caught in the amazement of the sight.   
A few feet away he could see a familiar figure, Segundus, standing in front of a water basin, his eyes closed as he concentrated on the spell. Childermass paused, he knew he came here to stop him, to do what the cards were warning him about, but something inside him made him stop. The spell was dangerous, but if performed incorrectly, it would have shown it by now. Instead, Childermass stepped over to a wall and leaned against it, watching as the “York Magicians” experienced amazement. They were magicians, sure, but they have never seen anything so ancient, or at such a great scale, that it was sure to leave an impression. An impression that Segundus was sure would give him an identity in England’s magic society.   
Childermass smirked as the statues yelled and grabbed at the men, who screamed and gasped in response. In Childermass’ amusement, he had not noticed the man who strolled over to speak with him.   
“I have to apologize,” Mr. Honeyfoot said, standing next to the taller man.  
“What for?” Childermass asked, crossing his arms, continuing to watch as the York magicians gasped and yelled.  
“I misjudged you. You see, John has always been a hopeful man, sometimes a bit ignorant, but hopeful nonetheless. And since you gave him this opportunity, I think even you see that he is finally able to reach his potential. After everything you’ve done for him, I see that you are truly a great and astute man.” Honeyfoot said, reaching his hand out to Childermass.   
At first he looked at the man's hand, unsure what to do, it was rare that anyone give him any sort of acknowledgement, unless told to by Norrell. But now, with him gone, it seemed that people were going to have to acknowledge him as a man. And Childermass didn’t know if he was ready. Finally, Childermass unfolded his arms and shook Honeyfoot’s hand, acknowledging the smile on his face as he accepted his statement. Then, the men’s attention were drawn to Segundus, who as soon as he completed his spell, collapsed onto the ground. Childermass and Honeyfoot quickly ran over to the man, Honeyfoot immediately helping Segundus back up as he got his energy back.   
“John, that was amazing! Absolutely amazing!” Honeyfoot said, patting the man on the back.   
“Thank you, Mr. Honeyfoot,” Segundus said, leaning against the man, clearly out of breath.   
Segundus was careful not to make eye contact with Childermass, for he knew what he was thinking, and he really didn’t need to be reminded of how dangerous what he just did was. Childermass could see this and chose to stay back, letting Segundus own up to his decision, it was done, there was no changing that.   
“Mr. Segundus! ‘The Society of York Magicians’ request your attendance at the society,” one of the men who, previously had been yelled at by a bishop statue, said. “We wish to discuss something with you.”   
Childermass could see the hope in Segundus eyes flare up as he heard what the man was implying. He knew he was about to get what he had worked so hard for, acceptance of his fellow magicians, as much as Childermass disapproved. He shouldn’t have to prove anything to these men, these men who use magic as a game, and a status. He knew Segundus was meant for great things, ever since he saw the man’s determination, but he also knew he was vulnerable to great loss, which Childermass was determined to avoid. 

Society of York Magicians

Childermass stood outside, a pipe in his hand as he leaned against the brick of the building. He thought over what Segundus and Honeyfoot had told him before they had arrived. Segundus decided to act, so when he first found the book in the library, he knew that it was his best chance at getting any sort of reaction out of the society. Even if it was one of fear. Childermass’ eyebrows furrowed as he thought about it, how if he had done the spell incorrectly, Segundus would be out of his mind and shipped off to the madhouse.   
Childermass snapped out of his trail of thought as he heard the door of the society swing open, and two men stormed out, Segundus and Honeyfoot. Childermass could tell immediately that something was wrong, that the meeting had not gone well. He pushed off the wall and stepped towards Honeyfoot as Segundus quickly got into the carriage, ignoring the two men who stood outside.  
“What ‘appened?” Childermass asked Honeyfoot as he glanced up at the magician in the carriage.   
The only response he gave was a headshake, showing that it had not gone well at all. Childermass took a deep breath, watching as the older man got into the carriage with his younger companion. He could see Segundus through the window as he looked away, his face one of discouragement. Soon they rode away, leaving Childermass outside the society, where muffled sounds of laughter emitted from. The cards were right, there was nothing but despair and lost hope for John Segundus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:   
> So I wanted to challenge myself a bit, so I used my own tarot cards to use for the spread Childermass uses in the beginning. But my deck is Celtic, where his is French, so I did have to do a little research, but you know. Most of the information of the tarots that I used (and will use) is from Biddy Tarot (https://www.biddytarot.com/). Anyways, I hope you guys are enjoying the story!


	7. Call Me John

York

It was not yet night, but day was soon leaving, causing a cool, dark breeze in the air. It was deep autumn, and everyone could feel winter eager to drape the cities in it’s white curtain. Childermass dressed himself in his usual attire of his overcoat and gloves, protecting himself from the nip the cold air provided, as he rode atop his horse, galloping over the streets of York.  
“Mr. Honeyfoot!” Childermass yelled from atop his horse, slowing to speak to the small man who walked along the sidewalk.  
“Ah, John Childermass! I was just looking for you!” Honeyfoot said, clutching a few books in his hands as Childermass stopped his horse and dismounted, so to be on the same level as the older man. “It’s John, I am worried about him.”  
“Aye, that’s exactly what I came to speak to you about, Mr. Honeyfoot. He has missed three lessons, and from what I know of John, this shouldn’t be normal for him,” Childermass stated, holding his horse's reins tighter as it grew impatient.  
“You must go speak to him! He took his rejection rather poorly, and hasn’t left his home for days. He won’t answer the door, and I am hoping that perhaps you will have more luck than I,” Honeyfoot said, giving the illusion that his latter statement held more than proposed.  
“I will see what I can do. What happened exactly, at the society?” Childermass asked, adjusting his coat slightly so to protect himself from the cold more efficiently.  
“They accused Segundus of stealing magic. They proposed that perhaps you had performed the spell and he was just giving the illusion to be a bearer of magic. There were a lot of things said, and a lot of yelling from John. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him that angry. They said that learning magic from a man who was no more than a magician’s servant was, in no way, going to make himself a respectable magician. Much less accepted by English magicians. They said he would do nothing but bring magic into disrepute.” Honeyfoot said, his voice showing his disappointment.  
Childermass was not surprised, it was never about magic, it was about status. It always had been, and always would be. Just a shame that Segundus, in all of his hopefulness, had to discover this the hard way.  
“You must go check on him. He’s been in that little house far longer than I’ve ever seen him,” Honeyfoot said, watching as Childermass hopped back on his horse.  
“I’ll go see what I can do,” Childermass said, riding down the cobblestone street, leaving Mr. Honeyfoot to go about the rest of his evening.  
It only took a few minutes to reach Mr. Segundus’ home, not giving Childermass much time to figure out what he was planning to do or say exactly. But, in reality, Childermass was never really a man of plans. He hitched his horse and strolled over to the front door of Mr. Segundus’ small townhouse, removing his gloves before landing three hard knocks on the door. No answer. Childermass then continued to lay three more before the door swung open. As soon as the door opened, it revealed a very disheveled Segundus, his hair in disarray, his white shirt loose and twisted, and from what Childermass could see, his home was just the same. As soon as Segundus registered who had knocked, he proceeded to shut the door again, before being stopped by Childermass’ firm hand, keeping the door open. There was a silence for a moment, and then finally Segundus gave a deep sigh and opened the door, allowing Childermass to enter.  
“W-what do you w-ant… Childermass?” Segundus asked, his words not containing the same light airy feeling they would have before.  
“I’ve come ‘ere to see what’s the matter with you,” Childermass said, removing his overcoat and gloves, placing them over by the coat rack by the door.  
“Nothing’s the matt-, I’m...m fine,” Segundus said, walking over to his chair that sat, surrounded by books and random papers.  
Childermass scanned the room, analyzing the state that Segundus put himself in. Before, the house was almost spotless, books were stacked neatly, organized, tables were clear, curtains were open; but now, miscellaneous items lay about the space, curtains shut closed, bottles of brandy lay about one of the tables, one empty and one almost. And from what Childermass could see of Segundus’ stature when he first walked in, he was utterly and completely intoxicated.  
“Yes, and I’m the king of England,” Childermass said, picking up one of the books that lay in the middle of the floor, closing it, and placing it on the desk.  
“Ha… well, if only you were. Th-then maybe you - could help,” Segundus slurred, a certain bitterness in his voice as he slouched in his chair.  
Segundus knew he looked pitiful, but what did it matter? Everything he worked so hard do, all thrown out the window, all because of a stupid rash decision. Maybe if he had chosen a different spell-  
“That spell, should’ve driven you insane,” Childermass said abruptly, interrupting Segundus’ train of thought, if it was intentional, he couldn’t tell.  
“What?” Segundus asked, his intoxication, taking up the rest of his thoughts.  
“Lancaster’s spell, Spells for the Experienced. There were rumors that the spell you chose, if performed incorrectly, causes the voices of the statues to only become visible to the magician, causing instantaneous and incurable madness. You shouldn’t have been able to perform that spell until much later. Do you realize how dangerous that was?” Childermass asked, standing in front of him, his arms crossed as he looked at him with furrowed brows.  
“I don’t need a lecture, I did w-what I know...Perhaps it would’ve been better if it did go awry. Then I wouldn’t have to-,” Segundus said, tossing his hair, “I wouldn’t have to feel anything.”  
That statement, that hopelessness, crushed Childermass. Before, whenever a spell did not go as planned, Segundus would perform it over and over again, so that he understood what went wrong and could prevent it in the future. But now… now, he sat, surrounded by utter his own disappointment and sorrow. A dark shade, a shade Childermass was very familiar with, covered him but did not suit the young John Segundus. There was yet another silence, Childermass broke his gaze away from him to look around the room once again.  
“They said that learning magic from a magician's servant, was not going to make me an english magician… They said you were nothing but a fraud, and that I bring magic into disrepute.” Segundus said, not looking at Childermass, out of embarrassment or intoxication, it wasn’t clear.  
“I know, Mr. Honeyfoot told me. Before he told me to come see you, he is concerned. As am I,” Childermass said, looking back down at the drunken man.  
Segundus glanced at him, his cheeks dusted with a soft pink from intoxication, and gave him a small smile, before pushing himself off of his chair.  
“I’m sorry - I’ve been a hor...horrible host,” he said, tumbling over to his dining room table, pouring a glass of brandy, “Here.”  
Childermass took the glass from the man’s hand, mainly because it looked as if he were to drop it any moment, and placed it back down on the table. Too drunk to notice the refusal, Segundus leaned against the table, focusing on keeping himself upright.  
“Can I ask you something?” Segundus suddenly asked, looking at Childermass, his eyes oddly focused for a man who drank one and half bottles of brandy recently.  
“What is the magic that surrounds you?” Segundus asked, turning to face Childermass, reaching his hand towards his shoulder.  
He watched in confusion as Segundus picked something off of his shoulder, holding it out for inspection, but there was nothing in his grip. “A raven’s feather, how peculiar,” he said, before releasing his grip on the invisible object, watching as it dropped to the floor.  
Childermass was utterly perplexed, he wasn’t sure if what Segundus was asking and seeing were a part of his intoxication, or something else, something to do with what he could see.  
Without answering, for he did not know how to respond, Childermass walked over to the opposite end of the table, clearing a space in the center.  
“Sit,” he told Segundus, who quickly did as he was told, relieved to be able to sit again.  
Childermass sat opposite and pulled the cards he always kept in his pocket out, laying a new spread across the table. He chose to do a nonspecific spread this time, for he was not really sure what he was asking, he just wanted know know what the cards would tell him. He glanced up at Segundus who stared at him as he laid the cards out.  
“Have you never seen tarot before, Mr. Segundus?” Childermass asked, looking back down at the cards.  
“John, call me John,” Segundus said, resting his elbows on the table as he looked down at the ragged cards laid out in front of him.  
“John, have you ever had yer fortune told?” Childermass asked.  
He only found himself referring to Segundus as his Christian name in the company of Honeyfoot, but saying it to the man’s face gave Childermass a feeling of nervousness.  
“Not correctly, no.” Segundus said, wringing his hands together for warmth.  
“Well, you’ve never had your fortune told by me.”  
Childermass concentrated on the cards, concentrated on his confusion, and he knew the cards would give him what he needed. He pinched the first card and flipped it over.  
Five of Swords. Ambition, failure, and distance. In the sense of John, showed his current state of hopelessness and loss. His ambition did not reap what he had hoped, leaving him distant and detached from his goal. His goal to become a great magician.  
Six of Wands, reversed. Doubt, lack of strength and recognition. Segundus’ fall from grace, and self-doubt. Doubt that he was even meant for the success his mother had promised him. Doubt that if everything he had worked for, everything he had devoted his life to, was truly worth it.  
The next card, was something Childermass had not expected, but something inside him said differently.  
“Well?” Segundus asked, his drunkenness making him slightly more impatient than usual.  
“Knight of Cups,” Childermass began, unsure how Segundus would react to his meaning. “Charm, imagination, romance. Someone has arrived in you life, providing new hope. A kind of “knight in shining armor,” Childermass explained, feeling rather embarrassed for an unknown reason.  
He watched as Segundus’ cheeks grew slightly redder and his eyes avoided those of the man in front of him. He knew he should be confused by this, but Childermass knew exactly what it meant, it was only the matter if he was ready to admit it to himself.  
“Does the- Do they tell you… who this knight might be?” Segundus asked, suddenly much more nervous than he had been previously.  
“If you have someone in mind-” Childermass began.  
“Well, I was just wondering if you could see it, that is all,” Segundus interrupted, suddenly panicked by Childermass’ presumed accusation.  
“These cards are here for our interpretation, what they say is up to you, Mr. Segundus. But if you do not like what they say-”  
“No! I mean, can we just continue, please?” Segundus asked, wishing to be saved from this embarrassment.  
Childermass smirked slightly, entertained by watching Segundus squirm, seeing him a little more lively than how he was when he had first arrived. But his smile quickly faded when he revealed the next card, a card that no one ever wished to see in their fortune. La Mort (Death).  
It was at this moment, that Segundus and Childermass found each other slowly meeting each other's eyes, as if they were having the same thought. Was John Segundus meant to die?  
“What does this mean?” Childermass asked, clearly his question rhetorical.  
He watched as Segundus’ face grew grim, as if he saw this card as an absolute, as if he had just been sentenced to hanged. This shot a pang of sympathy into Childermass, he did not want to bestow this sorrow onto him, especially when he felt his world already crumbling around him. There was only one thing that kept Childermass hopeful that death was perhaps not it’s true meaning; there were still more cards in the spread.  
Shaking off the sudden feeling of dread that swept over him, Childermass gave Segundus a sympathetic smirk before flipping the next card. But the next card did not exactly hold the relief that both men had hoped for.  
“The Hanged Man,” Childermass began, “Urgency to act, decisions, sacrifice. Usually, a decision to sacrifice for the greater good, for something you deem worthy.”  
“I do not understand. Before, the cards told of death, and now of sacrifice? These are told in the correct order?” Segundus asked, his fear peeking through his words.  
“These cards are not a obvious as they appear. They hold a lot more than one might think, but they can only reveal so much,” Childermass, peering up at Segundus from underneath his eyebrows.  
Childermass then shifted his attention over to the last two cards, and pinched his fingers onto one of them, revealing its face.  
“Eight of Swords,” Childermass read, “powerless, lost, trapped. Usually an indication that your thinking will be imposed or constricted, so it is important that you do not make any rash decisions-”  
“Stop,” Segundus said suddenly, giving Childermass pause.  
“Is everything alright?” He asked.  
Segundus would not look at him in the eye, for he was afraid that if he did, that he would reveal a part of himself he was not yet ready to show. Instead, he looked down at his hands as he wrung them.  
“I no longer wish my fortune to be told. They are saying such horrible things, and I do not need to be put down any more. I hope you do understand, Childermass,” Segundus explained.  
“Aye, I do,” Childermass said, stacking up the cards into their deck once again. With only one card left in the spread, Childermass was sure to place it at the top so that he may revisit once out of Segundus’ presence.  
He was used to people not being completely satisfied with their fortunes, but to have him stop just before the end, was unheard of. It was true, Childermass did understand, especially after what the cards had revealed, a future of death, mistakes, loss, and entrapment. And none of these things would Childermass ever wish upon John Segundus.  
“I am sorry,” Segundus began after a short silence.  
“What for?”  
“For causing Honeyfoot to worry. For having him send you here,” he said, his voice slightly embarrassed.  
Childermass did not respond at first. Did he really think that the only reason Childermass came was because Honeyfoot had asked him? Did he really not see what he was feeling?  
“I did not come here because Honeyfoot told me. I came because I was concerned. I wanted to make sure you were…” Childermass trailed off, unsure of how he wanted to finish.  
Segundus was very visibly blushing at this point, causing Childermass to smirk once again. He found himself smiling much more in Segundus’ presence than he did in anyone else’s, especially when he became embarrassed or flustered. He found it cute.  
“Oh, well. I do appreciate your visit, Childermass,” Segundus said, glancing into Childermass’ eyes before quickly looking away again.  
“You don’t have to call me that. Call me John, if you wish,” Childermass said, his eyes feeling softer as he watched Segundus.  
This caused Segundus to smirk, “John, thank you for being here,” he said, slowly reaching his hands across the table.  
Childermass rested his hands on the table and watched as Segundus reached his hand over his. His fingers twisting underneath his palm so to hold John Childermass’ hand, a touch that he was not used to. He welcomed Segundus’ hand, raising his gaze to meet his clear eyes once again, which sat atop of rosey cheeks. They sat there, holding each other's hand from over the table, in silence as they enjoyed the quiet moment. Childermass never had the luxury of moments such as these, he was not used to the feeling, the feeling of love.  
But something distracted him from the daze he found himself in, the bottles of alcohol that sat at the end of the table. He had almost forgotten, Segundus was drunk, there was no way of telling if he knew what he was saying, what he was doing. He couldn’t trust that what he was feeling was genuine. As much as Childermass wanted to stay in this moment, he couldn’t trust it, and reluctantly pulled his hand away, standing from his seat.  
“I am sorry, I do not mean to overstay my welcome,” Childermass said, not making eye contact with the man he had left at the table. The man whose face showed clear confusion.  
“Oh, well… If you must go,” Segundus said, standing from his seat as well, walking Childermass over to the door.  
Childermass said nothing as he pulled his overcoat over his shoulders and put on his gloves. Segundus opened the door, and Childermass turned to face the man, preparing to say goodbye. But something stopped him, something he knew he needed to do, for if he did not, was going to eat at him, for a long long time. He looked into Segundus’ eyes once again, and he felt a warmth in his chest, accompanied by a urgent heartbeat that accompanied his nerves. Then, Childermass reached his hands up, cupped Segundus’ face and placed his lips onto his.  
Childermass first felt the shock of Segundus at the sudden kiss, but a few seconds later he felt him relax and accept it. Breaking away he couldn’t help but smile, and he saw that this was the same for Segundus.  
“Oh, well…um,” Segundus said, his face bright red and his eyes avoiding eye contact once again.  
“There is someone I would like you to meet tomorrow. You have missed enough lessons, and it’s time you put your talents to work, Mr. Segundus. Tomorrow, we will pay Lady Pole a visit,” Childermass said, leaving Segundus’ home after his last statement, entering the cold atmosphere of the night.  
He heard the door close behind him and quickly reached into his pocket, feeling for the top card in his tarot deck. It had been killing him since Segundus refused to hear what the cards had to say, but as always, Childermass had to know. But once he pulled the card out of his pocket, he wished he didn’t. Le Diable (The Devil). Regret, remorse, to be tricked.


	8. A Rose at her Mouth

London

Segundus’ mind pounded against the skull that contained it, causing him to rub his temples with his fingers. He could barely remember what had happened the previous night, all he knew was that Childermass was there, reading cards, and him getting up and… a kiss. That was perhaps the most clear memory he had of the previous night, the feeling as Childermass cupped his face and pressed his soft lips against his own. He could feel his heartbeat increase as he remembered. Glancing over to Childermass, afraid that perhaps it was loud enough for him to hear. When he saw that his face remained neutral, Segundus focused on the winter air that surrounded them as they walked down the sidewalks of London.   
“Is this truly the Lady Pole from the papers? The one who was brought back from the dead and grew mad? The woman who lost her husband a few months ago? What was it to? Typhus?” Segundus asked, breathing into his hands to keep them somewhat warm.   
“Phthisis. And yes, the same,” Childermass said, keeping his vision ahead as Englishmen and women passed, few giving nods to acknowledge their presence.   
“What do you think happened to her? They say that Sir Walter Pole had brought her back, using very old magic. Perhaps he had performed it incorrectly, and you did say people involved in spells performed incorrectly, grew mad. Maybe we could help her, cure her even,” Segundus said, his eagerness and hope slowly returning to his voice since the previous night.   
“I don’t know. I haven’t ‘eard of someone involved in a spell growing mad, only the magician. There is something else going on, something more, I can feel it,” Childermass said. “And I’m hoping that you will see it.”   
Segundus did not need to ask what he had meant by this, for he already knew. Although they had never really discussed it, they both knew that Segundus had a talent that not many magicians held, the ability to see magic. And this visit to the late Lady Pole was clearly a test of this curiosity, for both Childermass and himself. They walked in silence the rest of the way, listening to the sound of crows cawing through the silent, dim air, giving an unintentional eerie atmosphere. When they did arrive at the home of Lady Pole, Childermass moved up the steps and opened the door, allowing Segundus to enter first. Unsure if this was a polite gesture, or perhaps just an old habit, Segundus accepted it anyways, walking into the chilly entryway. When Childermass shut the door behind them, both men removed their coats, placing them on racks that stood aside the entrance. As they stood, they heard the sound of a conversation drifting closer to them from through the study. Once the origins of the conversation appeared through the doorway, Segundus could feel his stomach drop and his ears burn.   
“Oh,” Drawlight said once he noticed the young magician and his companion, his tone clearly showing disgust, “it’s you.”   
As soon as Childermass turned from the door, spotting the men who stood in front of his apprentice, he walked forward, putting himself between the duo and Segundus. Crossing his arms, Childermass, without words, dared the men to try anything.   
“We are here to see Lady Pole, is she available?” Segundus asked, trying to seem strong and unscathed by the men who had blinded him only but a week ago.   
Clearly, they saw right through his facade; Lascelles a bit more than his shorter companion, given away by a sly smirk forming on his face. He glanced at the man who forced himself in the way and back at Segundus, his smile widening into an almost cheshire grin.   
“I am surprised you can see anyone, Mr. Segundus. But I suppose your master here, fixed you right up,” Lascelles said, grinning as he looked between Segundus and Childermass.   
“Listen, you little weasel-” Childermass began, his words clearly full of rage before being cut off.   
“We just wish to see Lady Pole, and if you cannot be help to us, then we will be on our way,” Segundus said, trying to keep himself steady and firm.   
Slightly surprised at the mature response at such a childish insult, Lascelles rolled his eyes and passed the men, but not before bumping into Segundus. Drawlight quickly followed, giving an upturned look at the men, but not daring to knock into the larger and more intimidating Childermass.   
“Well done,” Childermass said, glancing back at Segundus with a smile and soft eyes. Segundus smiled in return, and glanced at the stairwell as a figure descended them.   
“Ah, Mr. Childermass. How are you this evening?” The man in a blue suit said as he descended the stairwell. This man was handsome, very handsome, Segundus noted to himself, but was sure not to stare.   
“Hello, Stephen. This is my apprentice, John Segundus. John, this is the head servant of the Pole household, Stephen Black,” Childermass stated, gesturing between the men as they stood near the base of the stairs.   
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Segundus said, shooting his hand out to the man that stood, his hands behind his back.   
With a smile, but still somehow remaining serious and stern, Mr. Black took Segundus’ hand and gave it a firm shake. It was clear he was not used to handshakes nor greetings such as what Segundus had offered him, but he was sure to accept it with great pride. They parted and Mr. Black resumed to hold his hands behind his back as he spoke to Childermass.   
“Lady Pole is upstairs, if you gentlemen would follow me,” Mr. Black said, turning to walk up the stairs as the men followed.   
“She was very thrilled to hear that you have brought someone to bring some comfort to her condition,” the man said, glancing back to look at Segundus.   
“It is our pleasure, anything to assist her ladyship,” Childermass said, using the voice he did usually in the company of those he wanted to fool into thinking he was of noble standing.   
As they reached the top of the stairs, the three men stopped in front of a door, which Mr. Black slowly opened. Once opened, the room revealed to be a bedroom with ornate decorations and tapestries, decorating the room in a kind of glamorous way. And at a chair, resting aside a bookcase, sat a young woman with long wavy hair and pale features. On inspection of her eyes as she spotted the men who entered, it was clear to them that she was under extreme distress, with her brown eyes surrounded by a sickly red.   
“My Lady, this is John Childermass and John Segundus, they come to speak with you,” Mr. Black announced to the woman as she sat with a book in her hand.   
“Thank you Stephen. Gentleman, please, come in,” the woman said, her voice slightly hoarse, and her movements slow as she placed her book on the table aside her.   
With a small bow, Stephen turned his attention back to Segundus and Childermass. “I will bring some tea shortly. And please, do not try to excite her too much, the last thing she needs it false hope.”   
“Thank you, Mr. Black. We will do all we can,” Segundus said as he nodded to Stephen, watching as the man left the room. 

Two hours later 

“And the men danced upon water pails!” Lady Pole yelled as she grabbed onto Segundus’ shoulders, who jerked back at the sudden lunge.   
They had moved into the living room at the base floor about an hour before, giving more seating options for the three. Now, they sat in the yellow room, almost as extravagantly decorated as the woman’s bedroom.   
“Lady-” Childermass said, placing a tea cup that he had been holding in his hand for about an hour onto a small table.   
Ever since they had arrived, Emma Pole seemed to be more and more distressed as she tried to speak. Both men were not sure what to think, every time it seemed they were making progress, they would somehow resume back to square one, accompanied by random tales. Childermass had tried to speak with her himself a few times, but it seemed she responded the best when speaking with Segundus. He had seen madness play out throughout his travels, but this, somehow, did not strike Childermass as such. It was true, Emma Pole did not make any sense, but she was not mad.   
“My lady, you must calm down. We are listening, there is no need to shout,” Segundus said in his calmest voice, focusing on Emma to show her that his words were true.   
She looked him in the eyes, and once satisfied, sat back down in her chair across from Segundus.   
“I am sorry. It’s just very…difficult to get the right words out,” she explained, almost seeming ashamed.   
“That is alright. Now, I do believe you were telling us of men dancing upon pails?” Segundus asked, speaking as if it were a regular conversation.   
During most of the evening, Childermass had sat on a chair behind the duo who sat upon a couch, discussing their matters at hand. He had been silent, watching his apprentice as he did what he did best, comfort. But as he sat, watching the duo, he could not help but think back to the previous night, about what he had done. He shouldn’t have kissed him, he should have just left; but instead he took advantage of the chance that Segundus would not remember it in the morning. A chance that he could pretend as if it never had happened. He had acted on impulse, which never did bode well with Childermass.   
He watched as Segundus wrote in his notebooks as he spoke with Lady Pole, nodding and agreeing whenever she believed him to be not listening. This was his favorite state to observe him in, when he was focused and driven, giving him a curious aura that Childermass greatly admired. But as he watched them speak, he saw Segundus slow his writing as he stared at the woman who sat across from him.   
“Mr. Segundus?” Childermass asked, but could not seem to snap his apprentice out of his focus.   
Segundus reached his hand up and reached for Lady Pole’s lips, causing her to bend back, away from the man’s hand. Segundus was not swayed, and persisted to reach forward, his face showing a kind of amazement.   
“What are you doing?” Lady Pole asked, unsure of what was occurring.   
“There is a rose at your mouth,” Segundus said, his voice remaining still and calm, as if he were naming a species of bird.   
There was a silence for a few moments as Segundus watched Lady Pole’s mouth with amazement, and Childermass and Lady Pole looked between one another, nervously. Only Childermass really knew what this meant, it meant that Segundus could see the magic that surrounded Lady Pole. But the silence was cut after Segundus spotted something, his attention being drawn to Mr. Black who stood by the doorway, observing the meeting.   
“Who are you, sir?” Segundus asked, his voice confused and curious.   
“Excuse me? Sir, it is I, Stephen,” he said, his voice slightly nervous as he answered.   
“Yes, I know, but who is the gentleman aside you?” Segundus asked, standing to walk up to Mr. Black.   
Childermass watched in utter bewilderment, there was no one standing aside Mr. Black, there was absolutely nothing there. But Segundus stood and spoke with such solidity that he had to have a reason; this meant that whomever John Segundus was speaking to was truly there, just not visible.   
“I am John Segundus. But who are you? I don’t believe we have been introduced,” Segundus said, as if he were in conversation.   
There was a short pause, as if Segundus was listening to someone.   
“I do not know what you mean, you are here, aren’t you?” Segundus said.   
It was clear that there was someone in the room with them, someone that only John Segundus could see.   
“Well we are hoping to relieve Lady Pole of her…horrors. And from what I can tell, there is something not allowing her to tell us what is happening to her.”  
There was another pause, this one a bit longer.  
“Something from me?” Segundus asked, his voice slightly unsure.   
Another silence.  
“No, if you can help this poor lady, if you can take away what besides her, then do it. But do not make her into a bargain,” Segundus said, his voice much more serious and slightly more irate than it had been previously.  
“Stephen, you have one as well,” Segundus said, his attention suddenly being drawn to Mr. Black who stood astonished as Segundus spoke to the invisible apparition.   
There was a moment where Segundus paused, his face showing as if he had realized something. It was in this instance that the conversation ended with John Segundus collapsing onto the floor, unconscious. The three people that resided in the room hurried over to the man, with Childermass being the first.   
“Segundus! John!” Childermass yelled, grabbing hold of Segundus’ arms, shaking his limp form slightly. Nothing, John Segundus was completely unconscious.   
“What happened?” Lady Pole asked, resting her hand on the unconscious man.   
“I-I don’t know,” Childermass said, panic clouding his mind, not allowing much room for thought.   
“Move him to my room, it cannot be good to keep him on the floor. I will call for a doctor,” Lady Pole said, choosing to take control of the situation.   
His face was calm, as if he were asleep; and his body was limp, even more so when Childermass lifted him off the floor. Segundus was only a little shorter than Childermass, but he was much lighter, making it slightly easier for him to carry the limp man out of the room. The rest of the servants of the roomed paused and stared as Childermass carried the sleeping man up the stairs to the second floor. Starting to feel more like dead weight, Childermass quickly placed John onto Lady Pole’s bed, the draping fabric that surrounded him made the man look even more graceful. Childermass couldn’t help but stare at the man who lay unconscious on the sheets, his focus only breaking as Lady Pole entered. As she entered, she glanced at Childermass before walking over and sitting on the bed, brushing her hand over John’s hair. As they waited for the doctor to arrive, they sat in the silence of the room, watching as Segundus breathed. Childermass stood, trying to keep himself in order, trying to stay calm, and he was doing an absolute shit job.


	9. A Man No One Could See

He stood, a man that no one could see, a man that no one could hear. Stephen stood next to this man; the only one whose eyes were permitted to see the fairy, but not without a certain uncomfortableness that comes with holding a secret. They observed from the area next to the doorway, watching as the two magicians sat and listened to the poor lady’s quarrels. The Gentleman with the thistledown hair couldn’t help but smirk at the men, at how they believed they would help her in anyway. She was his, she belonged to him.   
“How funny,” he announced to Mr. Black, aware that he was unable to answer in the presence of deafened people.   
“These men, these magicians. They believe my lady is sick, they believe she is ruined by madness,” he began, walking towards the two who sat on the couch. “They look through painted glass, they resolve their issues without all the pieces.”  
He stood as he looked down at the unsuspecting magician who sat with his eyes peering into his small journal that sat upon his lap. It wasn’t until the magician looked up that the Gentleman found himself staring, his attention caught by the man with the large eyes. Leaning in to peer at him as he spoke with Lady Pole, his hands gripping around his small journal, the Gentleman found himself fascinated by the delicate man.   
“Who is this marvelous creature?” The Gentleman found himself asking, aware that Stephen must remain mute.   
But glancing back he could see the face of worry on Stephen’s face, the face he wore when he knew what the man was thinking. This man, this magician would be the perfect addition to his collection, he just had to have him. Standing up straight again, he glanced over the duo and stopped as his eyes laid on the man who sat in a chair behind them. This man caught his attention in particular because of how he watched the delicate man, the way he looked at him.   
“Ohh, now this is interesting,” the Gentleman said, walking around the couch to creep over to the man with a teacup in hand.   
He leaned in once again to observe the face of the man who did not know he was there, watching the man’s eyes as they watched the paler man. He almost smirked when he saw it, he almost laughed.   
“Now, this will choose to be troublesome,” the man said, glancing back at Stephen before looking at the man with long hair again. “He will not let him go.”   
The way he watched the man with the journal move and speak, with such intensity, he knew that it could only mean one thing. The one thing that never failed to get into the gentleman’s way, love. And if this man with the long hair and the romantic eyes truly loved the man with thin fingers and pale cheeks, then there was no doubt he would fight for him.   
Then the man moved forward, causing the Gentleman to move back, so not to touch him, his face contorting into a more concerned look. Following the man’s gaze, the Gentleman looked at the man on the couch who stared at the woman in silence. This caused him to stand once again and slowly creep towards the couch, watching as the magician reached his hands towards the mouth of Lady Pole.   
“There is a rose at your mouth,” the man said in a small and rather sweet voice.   
This caused the Gentleman to freeze, he could see it, he could see her curse. Quickly and quiety, as if anyone would hear him, the Gentleman moved aside Stephen once again, watching as the people in the room watched the pale one, eyes full of confusion. He still found himself frozen, his heartbeat still until something struck life into it once again. He met eyes with the magician.   
“Who are you, sir?” The man asked.   
Glancing over at Stephen, the Gentleman hoped that the man was simple speaking with his companion instead.   
“Excuse me? Sir, it is I, Stephen,” he said, careful not to look at the space beside him.   
“Yes, I know, but who is the gentleman aside you?” The man asked. Now it was clear that he was speaking to him, the man no one could see.   
The Gentleman was silent for a moment, it was rare that anyone outside his own realm spoke to him, for all were permitted to speak. But this, this was new, this was different. And the Gentleman found it very exciting.   
“Who in the world are you?” The Gentleman asked, his question holding a sort of demanding tone.   
“I am John Segundus. But who are you? I don’t believe we have been introduced,” Segundus said, standing from his seat on the couch, walking towards the Gentleman.  
“I have many names, none of which you will be able to pronounce. But I must know, how is it that you are able to see me?” The Gentleman asked as he lifted his hand to gesture towards himself.   
“I do not know what you mean, you are here, aren’t you?” Segundus asked, his eyes staring at the gentleman, unsure if he should be seeing what he was.   
“John Segundus, there are very few that speak with me, see me. My apologies if I seem a bit…unprepared,” he said, walking towards the man who spoke with him. “Tell me, what are you attempting to do?”   
“Well we are hoping to relieve Lady Pole of her…horrors. And from what I can tell, there is something not allowing her to tell us what is happening to her,” John said, gesturing to the woman who sat behind him.   
This gave the Gentleman pause. He knew that she was not allowed to speak of the ball, and soon he would suspect it was at the doing of the man no one could see. And he could not allow this man to get in his way. So there was only one thing he could do. He had to take him.   
“What if I said there was a way that I would relieve my lady? Why I could take it away as easily as breathing, and all it would take was something from you,” he said, facing the man, his hand resting in the air next to his face.   
“Something from me?” Segundus asked, his voice slightly unsure.   
“Yes, just a small thing, and I could take away what troubles Lady Pole” he said, peering into the man, looking for any hint of consideration.   
But then his eyes snapped at the Gentleman, holding a decision that the Gentleman did not like.   
“No, if you can help this poor lady, if you can take away what besides her, then do it. But do not make her into a bargain,” he said, his tone changing into something sterner, which did not fit the man’s soft features well.   
He was silent, unsure how to respond, he had to make sure that Segundus would not share what he saw. But before he could think, the man did something he really wish he hadn't.   
“Stephen, you have one as well,” he said, his attention being drawn to the man who stood, staring at the both of them.  
It was at this moment that the Gentleman felt an instance of urgency, a feeling he has not felt in quite a long time. And this caused him to do the only thing he could feel to do, he lifted his finger and tapped it on the man’s forehead, causing him to collapse onto the floor below him. He watched as the other three people, including Stephen rushed to the man side, checking for breathing and sources of what caused him to collapse. He took particular interest in watching the nameless man with long hair as he was the first to arrive at the man’s side, shaking as he yelled the man’s name. He was in his way, and that would have to change.   
He chose not to stay any longer, for he had a new meeting to arrive to, a meeting in Lost Hope. 

Three Hours Later 

“It appears to me that Mr. Segundus simply collapsed from stress, or perhaps from a fever, his temperature was fairly high,” the small doctor told Lady Pole and Childermass as they waited outside of the Lady’s room.   
Childermass had not felt this nervous in quite a long time, not since Mr. Norrell. He noticed himself staring at the ground as the doctor spoke to the lady, quickly snapping himself out of his daze to meet eyes of the man.   
“Then why can we not wake him?” Childermass asked, crossing his arms to cover up his nerves.   
“I do not know, let us pray that Mr. Segundus joins us soon,” the man said, pressing his lips together as he spoke. He really had no idea what had happened, no one did.   
The duo watched as the smaller man ducked his head as a goodbye and made his way down the stairs, leaving the air in a still silence. Lady Pole watched as Childermass looked at the ground, his thumb brushing against his lips, she couldn’t help but observe more than she was meant to see.   
“Where did you meet Mr. Segundus, if I may ask?” The lady asked, knowing that it was probably best that she draw the anxious man’s attention away for at least a moment.   
“Excuse me?” Childermass asked, his eyes slow to reach Lady Pole’s, clearly his focus stern and serious.   
“Mr. Segundus, where did you find him?” She asked again, forgiving the slow focus.   
“Oh, right. Well, he was just thrown out of a building, the Society ofYork Magicians. He and Mr. Honeyfoot, his friend, were yelling at the men inside. Eventually, I decided to speak with them and here we are,” Childermass said, rather plainly.   
“Interesting, and did you have these feelings then as well, or are they rather new?” The lady asked, a smirk forming on her face as she was excited to hear the reaction she would receive.   
Childermass froze, “I do not know what you’re talking about,” he said finally, finding it difficult to keep eye contact with the lady.   
“Oh please, Mr. Segundus has only been in our presence for a few hours and I could already see what he means to you. And what I saw, is that he means an awful lot.”   
He was silent, was he really that obvious? If so, could Segundus see it? He felt his cheeks burn as he felt the rush of blood run to his face. He was truly and utterly embarrassed.   
“Here, let us go have some tea as we wait for our friend to wake up, no use in waiting out here,” the lady said, grabbing the man’s arm to direct him down the steps.  
It had been an hour, then two, then three. And Childermass was growing impatient and more and more concerned every moment, and it was quite obvious on his face.   
“Mr. Childermass?” Lady Pole asked, trying to snap the man out of his thought.   
“Oh, excuse me, I was just, um, thinking,” Childermass said, brushing his hand over his face.  
“Right, thinking. I was just asking if you had any theories on what happened here this afternoon?” She asked, picking up her teacup and placing it on her lips.   
“Well, I saw the same as you. Mr. Segundus talking with someone, and then collapsing,” Childermass said, sighing as he finished.   
“Wait, you believe him to have been talking to someone?”   
“Yes, he was speaking consistently, and John-Mr. Segundus has had no instances of madness in the past.”  
It was after this sentence that a realization washed over the lady’s face and she looked at Childermass with grim eyes.   
“You must go search for someone who could help you, someone who can help Mr. Segundus. He is in great danger, I cannot tell you how, but you must believe me! You cannot do this alone, go find help,” she said, urgency lacing her words.   
“You must at least tell me why he is in danger,” Childermass said, his mind not yet grasping around what she was trying to convey.   
“Because, Mr. Childermass, you love him,” the lady said, her face solid and sure.   
It was in this instance that the lady pushed the man out the door, ordering him to find someone who could help him grasp the situation, for she could not. She promised to have Mr. Honeyfoot come by and watch Segundus for him, and then quickly shut the door, leaving the man in the dark cold air of London.   
It only took a few moments before Childermass knew exactly the man he was to see, a specifically strange man.


	10. Strange

“Mr. Strange! Mr. Strange, I must speak with you!” Childermass yelled, knocking on the Stranges’ front door.   
There was a moment just before he was about to knock again when the door quickly swung open, revealing a familiar woman.   
“Childermass? What is the matter?” Arabella Strange asked, a concerned look on her face as she looked down at the previous magician’s servant.   
“Is Mr. Strange home, I must speak with him!” Childermass asked, a panicked tone in his voice.   
“Arabella, who is i-Childermass?” The disheveled magician asked as he saw who had arrived at his home this late at night.  
Quickly, Childermass directed his attention to the man who stood behind his wife, a certain desperation in his eyes.   
“It’s Segundus, Lady Pole suggests that something strange happened to him. Something unnatural,” he said, desperate to find answers in this man.   
“What? Where-Come in, we need to discus this in my study,” Jonathan said, gesturing for him and his wife to follow.   
Once they arrived in the room, Arabella shut the door behind them, sitting at a chair in front of his desk as her husband sat behind it. They both gestured at another seat in front of Childermass, and he reluctantly took the much needed rest.   
“Alright, what happened Childermass?” Mr. Strange asked, clasping his hands together as he pressed them against his mouth, intent on listening to the man’s tale.   
“Mr. Segundus and I went to go visit Lady Pole, to perhaps help her with her…difficulties, but as we delved deeper into our meeting, something strange happened. Out of nowhere, Segundus began to speak to someone who was not there,” Childermass paused, making sure that he still had his audience.   
Once he was sure he did, he continued.   
“He began to introduce himself to an invisible man, and then he brought up a bargain, but something made Segundus decline. Rather harshly, I might add. And then, he just collapsed. Not even the doctor is sure what ‘appened,” Childermass finished.   
There was a silence as Jonathan analyzed what he was told. And soon he directed his attention back to Childermass.   
“That was all? There was nothing else mentioned?” Jonathan asked, obviously as perplexed as the rest of them.   
“No, I don’t-well, there was one thing. Just before Segundus began his conversation, he became fascinated with Lady Pole’s mouth. He said there was a rose,” Childermass said, startled as the Strange jumped up from his chair and hurried over to his bookcase.   
The man with the messy hair quickly glanced over the spines of his many books, before he found what he was searching for. He then relieved the thick green book of it’s place on the shelf and frantically flipped through the pages. He then handed the open book to Childermass, pointing to a particular paragraph in the center of the page.   
“There, if what you described to me is true, which I don’t doubt is, then Mr. Segundus was describing a curse,” Strange said, crossing his arms as Childermass read further.   
“A curse? On Lady Pole? Who on earth would want to do such a horrible thing to that poor girl?” Arabella asked, suddenly more intrigued by the conversation.   
“I do not know. It is amazing how Segundus was able to see it in the first place, is this normal?” Jonathan asked.  
“Well, I have discovered that he is sensitive to magic, yes. And this meeting with Lady Pole was meant to be a test of this, a test which proved…effective,” a kind of regret lacing Childermass’ voice.   
“That is incredible, really,” Jonathan said, tailing off into his own train of thought.   
“Yes, but what are we to do? Lady Pole told me that he was in danger, but she could not tell me why. She only said…” Childermass began, quickly trailing off.   
“What did she say, Childermass?” Arabella asked, placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder.   
He did not want to say it, he did not want to show weakness. But it was the only answer he was able to receive, and perhaps his only chance to save Segundus.   
“She said it was…because I love him.” 

Elsewhere 

The first thing he could sense was the sharp cold that pierced his skin, sending shivers down his spine and jolting him awake. But what he expected to see, the room he last saw, was not what was given to him-instead, he was provided a fog too thick to see through. His head pounded as he pushed himself off the ground, his limbs being unforgiving under his weight. Once standing, John Segundus was allowed a moment to observe his surroundings, but not quite comprehend.   
He squinted as he tried to peer through the thick fog, and once it began to thin, it was revealed that he was in a dark forest of sorts. Turning around to find anything the least bit discernible, he found himself released from his hopes-there was nothing but trees. Instead of blindly walking in a random direction, which never proved to be helpful for John, he closed his eyes and focused. This was clearly not England nor reality, so relying on his talent was all that Segundus had in forms of a plan. It wasn’t long before he felt a draw, a cold aura coming from a specific direction, causing the man to instinctively follow.   
He didn’t feel right, he didn’t feel like his footsteps were truly his; almost as if they were tempted. But nonetheless, he had no better plan, and it was clear this was where he was meant to go, so why fight it? It only took a few moments before he was released into the view of his destination. In front of him rested a large, but desolate castle, with walls and ceilings collapsed and crumbling, clearly uninhabited. But something inside him disagreed, pushing him to continue. Stepping forward, he found himself coming face to face with a large white door, it's paint chipping off the sides. He felt he didn’t have much choice but to enter, so with a determined push, he stepped inside the crumbling castle.   
What he was met with was not at all what he expected. He entered, first noting the large tree that rested in the center of what appeared to be a circular ballroom, decorated with white and silver candles, windows and other designs. He couldn’t help but be amazed by the sight, although untrue, he found it oddly beautiful.   
“Mr. Segundus?” he heard a familiar voice asked, causing him to snap his attention to the two figures that stood furthest from the entrance where Segundus stood.   
“Mr. Black? What is going on? Where am I?” Segundus immediately asked, walking towards the man he knew the face of.   
But he stopped cold in his tracks as the man who spoke with Mr. Black slowly turned to meet eyes with his guest.   
“Ah, John Segundus. Welcome, to Lost Hope,” the Gentleman bellowed with the pride of a ruler.   
“Lost Hope? W-what is this place?” Segundus asked, wringing his hands together as he spoke, keeping a fair distance from the men.   
“This. Is my kingdom,” the man said, opening his arms wide to gesture to what he ruled.   
“Why am I here?” Segundus asked, unsure how to react in this sort of situation.   
“I would like to offer you a new deal, a deal that many would find impossible to decline,” the man began.   
“Sir, please-” Mr. Black began before being silenced by the gentleman’s hand.   
“What kind of deal?”   
“What would you say your status is? Back in England? What do others think of you?” The Gentleman said, inching closer to the man as he spoke.   
“Well, a...I am- I am a magician,” Segundus said, all confidence leaving his body.   
“Yes, but do others see you that way? Or are you nothing but a servant's apprentice?”   
“It does not matter what they see! I-”  
“We both know this isn’t true, Mr. Segundus. Do not lie, it does not suit you,” the Gentleman said, standing only a step away from the Englishman.   
He was silent.  
“Your heart yearns to be heard, to be recognized for your talents, to be useful. And I can provide that for you, I can make you the greatest magician of my kingdom! I can give you the recognition that you so desire, and deserve.”  
It was true, he did not yet feel the magician that he could one day become, not unless he could share it. And how is one to share when the world shuts their doors in their face? But, even if this man was offering everything Segundus ever dreamed, he knew he could not accept. And the Gentleman saw this on his face. He watched as the man’s smile faded, and his fingers curled as he realized the man was not going to accept. The man then did what Segundus had not expected, he raised his hands and clapped.   
Suddenly, the room flooded with new guests, all dressed in white ballgowns and suits, instantly joining in a dance as the room filled with music. They swarmed the men as they danced, not giving them a second glance, almost as if they knew what they were here for and told not to interrupt. Segundus quickly looked around at the men and women that danced around them, grotesque faces and jewelry decorating their faces, their eyes white and clear, sending jolts of fear down Segundus’ spine. Suddenly, one of the women grabbed the Englishman by his hands and led him into a dance, not giving him any room to escape. She then quickly sent him to another dancer who followed in suit and did the same, sending Segundus through the crowd, his head spinning as he tried to regain his balance. But, suddenly, he stopped. He felt strong hands grip onto his arms, holding him into place as the rest of the room spun. Looking up he felt his own heart jump through his throat, and he felt his face heat up. The dancer that he now stood with was John Childermass, smiling down at him. He wore what the other dancers did, pure white, although, his dark hair quickly set him apart from the rest. How did he not see him before?   
“Childermass? What are you doing here?” Segundus quickly asked, grabbing hold of Childermass’ arms in turn.   
“John, have you ever learned to waltz?” Childermass said, his voice the same gravely tone it always had been.   
“No, no I never-what is going on?” Segundus said, frustrated at the avoidance of the question.   
“Then I will teach you,” he said, taking Segundus’ hands.  
He avoided the question once again, instead leading the Englishman in the dance, twirling within the sea of white and silver. As they continued the dance, Mr. Segundus found it more and more difficult to focus on the task at hand, and the more he could feel himself melting into the crowd. He looked up at Childermass, who looked back down at him, his eyes softer and more gentle than he was used to seeing, giving him an almost romantic look to them. He couldn’t look away, he couldn’t break from the dance, and in all honesty, he didn’t want to. Here, in this place, wherever it may be, was separate from what Segundus knew, it was something different. Here, he didn’t have to fight his way through to be accepted, he just was, he was welcomed into the dance. Soon, he found himself smiling, almost laughing as he twirled around, looking at the people whose faces changed from grotesque and macabre to beautiful and gentle.   
But when he looked back, something snapped him back into reality. He looked back up at Childermass’ face and his memories of England washed back over him, his memories of the real Childermass. Awaken from his daze, Segundus’ smile faded and he drifted away from Childermass, leaving him to move on into the dance. His heart moved back into his chest as he looked around, and the beautiful faces formed back into distorted forms of the undead, causing him to back away. As he moved back, something hit him from behind, quickly causing him to look back to come face to face with the Gentleman once again.   
“Mr. Segundus, what are you doing?” He asked, his tone almost angry.   
“I-I am leaving! I cannot stay!” He shouted, quickly moving away from the man and the other dancers.   
He looked back to find the Gentleman quickly walking towards him, watching as his guest hurried towards the door. He did not think twice, and quickly, Segundus ran towards the door, throwing it open and running outside. He was gone.   
“Stephen!” The Gentleman demanded, his voice traveling further as the dancers left the room, disappearing into the walls.   
“Sir?” Mr. Black asked, quickly walking over to the Gentleman.   
“Mr. Segundus has done a great injury to me. And I cannot let this stand, he cannot tell others of what he found! For if he does, you cannot be king!”   
“What do you suggest we do sir?” Mr. Black asked, slightly worried for what the man was going to suggest.   
“He did not stay because what he wanted was not truly here. He felt greater value in England than in my kingdom. And because the man is a magician, he cannot be so easily taken…Mr. Black, John Segundus must be eliminated.”


	11. What are you willing to sacrifice, Mr Segundus?

Nothing. They found nothing. Throughout the night, Childermass and Jonathan Strange scavenged the many shelves of Mr. Strange’s collection of books for any hint of a “rose at the mouth.” But soon both men found themselves sound asleep just before morning when a hard knocking came upon the front door. They quickly lifted their heads, Jonathan, from resting atop an open book and Childermass from the wall behind him. Childermass was the first to answer the door, with the hopes that perhaps it was good news on Mr. Segundus’ state, or perhaps the man himself, but he quickly discovered that it was not. He opened the door and was greeted by Mr. Honeyfoot with a flustered and urgent look on his face.   
“Mr. Honeyfoot, what is it?” Childermass asked in a demanding tone.   
“It’s Mr. Segundus, he’s disappeared! Lady Pole sent for him to be taken to my home last night. After you left, she kept saying of how he was in danger in her home. But when I went to go see him this morning he was gone, his bed still a mess. I asked about and I got word of someone seeing him catch a coach, I assumed that he came back here.”   
“We must go see if he has gone back to Lady Pole’s,” Mr. Strange interjected as he joined the men at the front door.   
“I did, and she has disappeared as well! After what I heard of last night, I only find it reasonable to worry,” Honeyfoot said, looking between the two men.   
“Let us be on our way then! No use standing here, is there?” Jonathan said, quickly turning around to fetch his and Childermass’ coats, as well as say goodbye to his wife.   
Returning to the door, Strange quickly handed Childermass his coat and the three men made their way down the London street. 

Later That Morning 

“I don’t understand, where would he have gone!?” Honeyfoot asked.   
“You don’t think he would’ve gone to your home, Childermass?” Mr. Strange asked, glancing over to his friend as they walked.   
“I don’t think Mr. Segun-” he was cut off by his gut churning.   
He quickly stopped and leaned against the building he walked past, grasping at his head as it pounded inside his skull.  
“Childermass! What’s wrong?” Honeyfoot asked as he and Strange raced back to him.   
Childermass quickly looked around before he spotted the market just at the end of the alley they stood beside. He knew that was where the magic was coming from, he knew that was where he needed to go.   
“This way!” He yelled as he stumbled down the alley.   
The three men entered the open market and desperately looked around as Childermass stumbled in a direction he could only feel. He was always around magic, and it was very rare that it ever made him feel this way, the way that Segundus could feel. He remembered the first time he felt it, when a man had put a charm on a woman in the town square, and she felt the uncontrollable need to do whatever he wanted. He didn’t know what it was until much later, when he came under the care of Mr. Norrell, who explained this sensitivity. He could say he has only encountered it about three times in his lifetime, and for all three, it never was because of honest magic.  
“Childermass! Childermass! What is going on!” Strange yelled, trying to keep up as the three men pushed through the crowd.   
“There is magic being done! Sinister magic!” He yelled back, stopping to look around for anything that could be it’s source.   
Then he felt it. Just to the left of him he spotted a cloaked woman, and as soon as he laid eyes on her, he felt his gut turn in his stomach once again. But something else caught his attention as well, the man that they had searched for all morning. John Segundus.   
“John! John Segundus!” Childermass yelled, pushing through the crowd, desperate to reach the man.   
Jonathan Strange and Mr. Honeyfoot followed in suit, watching the man who looked lost, searching for the voice that had called his name. And at the same time, they watched the woman walk towards him, revealing a gun underneath her cloak.  
“Madam!” They yelled, forcing through the crowd, towards the lady.   
As Childermass became closer, he recognized the lady as she threw off her scarf and lifted the pistol in her hand towards Segundus. Childermass felt his breath stop as complete and utter dread washed over him. Quickly, he broke out of the crowd and raced towards the woman, grabbing the pistol as Honeyfoot and Strange restrained her. Then there was a gunshot, followed by a quick silence.   
Childermass screamed out in pain as the bullet entered his chest, causing him to fall back onto the cobblestone underneath him. His breath hitched as his blood left his wound, seeping through the cracks between the stone. His vision blurred as the pain overcame him.   
“Childermass!” He heard the familiar soft voice scream as Segundus raced towards him, kneeling down to place pressure on his wound.   
Childermass yelled once again as Segundus’ hands pressed down, blood pushing through his thin, pale fingers, dripping over his wrists and onto his white sleeves. He looked up to meet eyes with Segundus, whose were large and full of panic. He wanted to tell him it was all going to be alright, that it wasn’t his fault, but he was too weak. Two officers took notice of what happened, and immediately seized Lady Pole, allowing Strange and Honeyfoot to race back to Childermass’ side. The last thing he heard before everything went black was the shuffling of feet as a crowd formed around them and the sound of Segundus shouting for help. 

Afternoon

Dread. That was all that Segundus felt, that was the only thing he could feel. He pressed his hands down onto Childermass’ wound, feeling tears well up in his eyes as he shouted for anyone to help, but no one came. He looked down, tears dropping from his face onto the man’s bloody coat, soaking into the fibers. The next thing he knew, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Honeyfoot where lifting Segundus away from Childermass’ form as a new man moved in. A doctor it seemed, aimed with nothing but a bottle of alcohol and a rag. They couldn’t save him here, they had to take him home. Although they could not make it to Hurtfew Abbey, they had to settle for the next best thing.   
Mr. Strange’s home was very humble and similar to the couple who resided inside of it, Segundus thought to himself. He would’ve appreciated it much more if Childermass wasn’t bleeding out in the next room as the doctor worked on analyzing the state of the wounded man. Mr. and Mrs. Strange, along with Mr. Honeyfoot sat outside of the bedroom door, listening to the dreadful silence from inside. They were all sitting, and when the door opened, Segundus was the first to shoot up. But his hopefulness was quickly squandered when the doctor walked out, a solemn look on his face.   
“Well?” Arabella Strange asked, quickly hoping to get to answers.   
“I’m afraid I am not able to remove the bullet, it is situated in such a way that if it be removed, would cause more harm than good,” the doctor explained.   
“What are you saying?” Mr. Honeyfoot asked.   
“Your friend’s fate, is in God’s hands I’m afraid. Let us pray it is not his time,” he said, his words carrying sympathy for the man’s friends.   
The doctor nodded as he passed the small crowd, leaving them in a heavy silence. This silence was especially heavy for John Segundus, whose face stood still as he stared at the ground, his arms crossed. He was broke out of his own mind when he felt a hand rest on his shoulder.   
“I know that face, John Segundus. This was not your fault, not in the least bit,” Mr. Honyfoot said, looking at the young man with a stern face.   
“He is right. Now, we must see if there is anything we can do for our friend,” Arabella Strange said, trying to keep the emotions in the room controlled. 

One Hour Later 

Most left just over an hour of standing in the room of the unconscious man, silence filling most of the space. An appropriate subject could not find itself into conversation with such heavy dread filling the air, leaving the small crowd to only be accompanied by their own thoughts. Although many left, Childermass was not alone. Segundus watched the unconscious man as he sat on a chair opposite the bed, watching for any movement that may signal life in the shell that held Childermass. But seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours, and quickly the moon rose into the sky, filling the room with darkness, aside from the candlelights that Segundus chose to light.   
“Why did you have to get in the way? I shouldn’t have left. Maybe if I didn’t, you would still be…” he trailed off, not having the heart to finish.   
Instead, Segundus remained silent, walking over to the side of the bed that rested Childermass. He looked down at the resting man, his eyes and face relaxed and pale, almost looking without flaw. At least that was how Segundus saw him. He lifted one of his arms, reaching down near Childermass’ face brushed a strand of hair off his forehead, clearing it for Segundus to look upon.   
“Sad, isn’t it, Mr. Segundus? For something we love to be taken away so easily,” a sharp voice interrupted harshly.   
Segundus felt his heart leap up to his throat as he turned to face the man who had appeared in the previously empty room. He did not feel it return when he kept his eyes on the mystical being, who he now knew was not human.   
“What do you want?” Segundus asked, a bitterness in his tone that never found place in his mouth.   
“Now, it is not what I want. I am here for what you need,” he said, looking at the man, so close to death, lying on the bed in the center of the room.   
“And what would that be, sir?”   
The Gentleman broke eye contact with the other man in the room and strolled to the opposite side of the bed, so that their conversation would carry over the dying man. He then looked up at the grieving man with a serious look.   
“It is unfair, for something so sweet, something so rare to be stolen from you so harshly, John Segundus. He cared for you, and when he searched for you-well, you know the rest,” the man began with words of venom, “but this does not have to be his end.”   
Segundus stared at the man, his eyes glimmering with fresh tears and a shimmer of hope.   
“You see, I am a man of many talents, and one of my greatest is returning what people have lost. Especially when it was the only thing they had. I could bring this brooding man back to his great state, give him his life that he so deserved back. All I ask is for something in return, something that you deem equal.”   
Segundus froze, out of relief or dread, he could not tell honestly. This man was promising the impossible, to bring someone back from the dead. Glimpses of doubt shot through his mind, but were shortly accompanied by reflections of hope.   
“And you would know better than any, that I speak the truth, that what I say is honest. You have done your research, have you not?”   
“If I were to agree, what consequences would there be?”   
“No more than what I promised. John Childermass’ life for anything you deem equal.”   
Segundus thought it over about a dozen times, but he always came up with the same answer. There was no other way, for if he were to attempt this himself, there was no promise that he would return completely nor himself at all. This was Segundus’ last hope for his greatest wish, for Childermass to be safe.  
“What do you say? Do you agree, Mr. Segundus?” The green man said, peering into his eyes for any hint at an answer.   
“I-” Segundus said, looking down at Childermass once more, “I agree.”   
“What are you willing to sacrifice, Mr. Segundus?”  
“Myself. I will trade my life for John Childermass’.”   
The man hesitated for a moment, it was as if this was not the answer he had expected, but that did not stop him from smiling.   
“It is done.”   
The Gentleman held out his hand across the form of the dead man, offering it as the final agreement. Segundus paused, he bent down over Childermass’ form and placed a single kiss on the man’s forehead, tears pushing their way past the man’s eyelashes. He wiped his eyes and stood once again, taking the man’s hand in a firm grasp. And as soon as their hands touched John Childermass was alone in the room, silence filling the air, followed by a faint but steady heartbeat.


	12. Find the Sparrow before the Raven Arrives

John Childermass pushed himself off the ground, the dizzy feeling unwavered as he gained his bearings. He did not recognize the area, the only notable landmark was a singular tree sitting in the center of the ravine which was decorated in vivid green moss. He glanced down and saw that his clothes were splattered in deep red blood, and when he glanced at his wound, a black mass suddenly pushed out of it. Quickly, he saw that the object that left the wound was a raven, flying into the air before something caught it’s attention. Childermass watched as the bird quickly dove down at something that emerged from nowhere, a small sparrow. The smaller bird dodged the attacks from the larger black bird, it’s size seemingly giving it the quick advantage. That was until the raven’s beak got ahold of the sparrow’s wing, ripping it as it threw the small bird at the ground. There was only a small noise that came from the animal as it impacted the ground just in front of Childermass, dead.   
“Segundus?”   
He shot up, covered in a cold sweat, his heart beating so fast it felt as if it were to explode. He looked around the empty room for anything to give him hint of what had happened. He glanced down at his cotton shirt, covered in blood, he searched for his missing vest which sat on the chair next to him. The rose at her mouth, John was missing, they found him, then…the gunshot. Quickly, Childermass pushed the sheets off of him and stumbled towards the door, swinging it open as he left the room.   
“Strange!” He shouted as he recognised the home he now resided in.   
He held onto the railings of the staircase for dear life as he descended to the first floor, franticly looking around for anyone at all. It wasn’t until he reached the library that he found Mrs. Strange, quickly running over to Childermass as he entered the room. She grabbed the man and embraced him in a hug, in which Childermass, although in a hurry, accepted.   
“We thought you dead! What are you doing out of bed, we must get you-” she began.   
“I’m fine. Where’s Jo- Mr. Segundus?” Childermass, attempting to keep his urgency underwraps.   
“He wasn’t with you this morning? He refused to leave your side and I had assumed he had fallen asleep,” Arabella explained, putting Childermass’ arms over her shoulder to keep him upright.   
“Perhaps he had gone home then, I can imagine this has all been very stressful on him,” Childermass said, struggling against Arabella’s grip as he held him.   
“Childermass! You're awake! How is this possible?” Jonathan Strange asked excitedly as he entered the room.   
“It is nice to see you too, Jonathan,” Childermass said, followed by a cough.   
Once the couple dragged the man back upstairs to the bedroom, they forced him back in bed to rest, to which Childermass, of course, disagreed.   
“We must get you fresh bandages,” Arabella said as she removed the blood soaked ones he had slept in, “you could have torn-”   
“What is it, Arabella?” Jonathan asked as he walked over to look at the object of his wife’s silence.   
Childermass glanced down at whatever rested underneath his bandages, and he now knew what caused such shock. There was no wound. 

Afternoon

“I do not understand,” Mr. Strange said, taking a sip of his tea.   
“I don’t myself, all I know is that Segundus would not have just left. He would have written a note at the least,” Childermass said, sitting on the edge of his chair, watching the steam leave the spout of the teapot that sat on the table.   
“This was a very damaging experience, perhaps he simply went for a walk to clear his head?” Arabella suggested.   
“It has been six hours,” Childermass began, clearly annoyed, “something isn’t right. I know it.”   
“And how do you know this?” Jonathan asked, placing his teacup down on the table and leaning back.   
“Because-I had a dream, before I woke up.”   
“And what did this dream entail?”   
“I was in a ravine with a hanging tree. I looked down at my…wound…when a raven flew out. It flew into the sky until it saw a sparrow and killed it.”   
The room was silent for a moment as the couple tried to analyse the ‘premonition.’ But ultimately came out empty handed.   
“What do birds have to do with Segundus?” Arabella asked.   
“The sparrow was Segundus.”   
“Oh,” Arabella said, the only noise that filled the room for several moments.   
That was until Jonathan Strange spoke up, offering a plan of action.   
“Well, then we must find the sparrow before the raven arrives.”   
And just like that, the trio got up from their seats and dressed in their coats, gathered their servants and grabbed their lanterns before leaving to search the night for John Segundus.   
It had been two weeks and John Childermass was reaching his breaking point. He felt lost, confused, and worried; all emotions Childermass felt didn’t belong in his skin. He had left to return to Hurtfew a few days after Segundus’ disappearance, hoping that he would return, or at least could get his mind off of the matter before he did. But this proved to be ineffective, with Childermass unable to focus on anything. Reading became blankly staring at pages of a book, sleeping became laying awake in the dark, going for a walk just amplified the thoughts in his head.   
On one particular Thursday, when the snow had just began to fall, draping the trees in a light dusting, a knock came upon Childermass’ door. It wasn’t but 5 seconds before the door swung open, revealing a hopeful look on Childermass’ face. But his hope quickly diminished when he opened the door to a man who he did not recognize.   
“Who are you?” Childermass asked, in a bitter tone.   
“I come with a message from Jonathan Strange. He is gathering another search party back in London. One of the servants spotted Mr. Segundus.”  
Childermass arrived in London that same day and immediately arrived at the Strange’s home, quickly knocking on the door. One of the maids had opened the door and bowed her head before allowing the man into the house.   
“Ah, what took you so long, Childermass?” Jonathan Strange asked as he spotted his guest enter.   
“Even magic has its limits, Mr. Strange,” Childermass said, standing in the entrance way as the other magician dressed in his coat.   
It was already night when Childermass arrived, and the snow was built on top of the roads and sidewalks, glistening under the moonlight. The search party quickly gathered and set out for the road that Mr. Segundus was last seen stumbling down, peering through the snow with their lanterns raised. They shouted Segundus’ name, waiting every few moments to listen for any sort of response, but it never came. They searched in the cold for 2 hours, but they never saw or heard anything, there weren’t any footprints in the snow either. Finally, the group, much to Childermass’ dismay, decided to return home. There was no Segundus to find here.   
Childermass did not return with the others, he couldn’t, not with the possibility of Segundus being lost in this weather. But after two more hours of searching, when he could no longer feel the tip of his nose, he too decided to return. He walked down the quiet and empty street leading to the Strange’s home, whom invited him to stay for the night. With a heavy soul, he stepped into the couple’s home and slowly removed his coat, hat, scarf and gloves, the room soaked with disappointment. There was a singular guest room on the top floor, so with lead feet, Childermass pulled himself up the wooden staircase.   
But something stopped him from taking another step. He turned his head to see the door creaking open, the man frozen as he held his breath. When the figure revealed itself from the doorway, Childermass stood in shock, almost as if he was waiting to believe it. There, in front of the open doorway, leading to the cold of the London night, stood the disheveled, sickly looking figure of John Segundus.


	13. La Morte Fausse

“John!” Childermass said, racing back down the steps to reach the entrance.   
Segundus stared at him blankly, almost collapsing before Childermass caught him. He was wearing nothing but a simple pair of pants, shoes and a white undershirt, and his skin was extremely pale, only giving Childermass more reason for concern. His skin, through his thin shirt, was as cold as ice, his eyes were blank and almost disembodied. Segundus took a moment to realize where he was, and when he did, he gripped Childermass’ arms tightly and stared directly in his face.   
“Childermass? John Childermass?” he asked, as if he was not sure who he was talking to.   
“Yes, yes, it’s me? Where did you go? Where have you been?” Childermass asked urgently, not letting go of the weak man.   
“Am I your apprentice?” He asked, his voice slightly weaker.   
“Segundus, we must get you to bed, you’re freezing,” Childermass said, leading the weak man to the staircase.   
“Am I your apprentice?!” He asked again, this time more urgently.   
“What? Yes, of course,” Childermass finally answered, pulling the man up the stairs.   
“Am I yours?” Segundus asked, clenching onto Childermass.  
Childermass froze, taken aback by the strange and blunt question.   
“I do not know. But I am yours,” Childermass finally said.   
Segundus, once satisfied with the answer did not ask anymore questions, but did not make it any easier to make his way up the stairs.   
“Segundus!?” They heard a familiar voice ask from the bottom of the staircase.   
“Mrs. Strange, a hand please?” Childermass asked.   
The woman quickly ran up the stairs and put herself underneath Mr. Segundus’ arm, lifting part of the load off of Childermass. They both carried the sick man up to the top of the stairs and then finally to the guest room, where they laid the man on the bed and quickly covered him in the sheets. Underneath the sheets, the man continued to shiver and his breathing became shallow.   
“I’ll get more blankets,” Arabella said, quickly racing out of the room.   
Childermass sat on the bed and looked at the shivering man, his eyes darting around the room in a panic. Childermass couldn’t help but feel guilt, if he hadn’t taken him to Lady Pole none of this would have happened. Maybe if he hadn’t taken him as an apprentice…he would be safe. Then this wouldn’t hurt so much.   
Arabella returned with more blankets and they quickly piled them on top, covering the shivering man as much as they could. They waited a few moments, trying to get any word out of Segundus, but when he didn’t respond they decided to let him rest. Although, Childermass did not leave. He sat atop the pile of blankets and watched as the cold man glanced around the somewhat unfamiliar environment. After a few moments of silence, Childermass leaned in and placed a small kiss on his, shutting his eyes tightly as he felt the cold creep to his lips. He stood and strolled over to the small fainting couch that resided in the corner of the room, collapsing atop of it as he watched the ceiling turn to black. 

Morning

Childermass, as usual, was the first to wake in the morning, even before the sun did. He sat in the dark, silent room, feeling his tarot cards in his hand, glancing upon the illustrations in the dim dawn light. He shuffled the deck and randomly picked out three cards, holding them so that he could not yet see their faces. He made it a habit to read his fortune early in the day, this was a way that he felt he could have some control, some understanding. John Childermass did not appreciate the unexpected, and his cards prevented just that. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, flipping the card over. When he opened his eyes, he felt his heart drop. La Mort. Although the grim card, Childermass had encountered it many times before, therefore it did not give him much despair. That was until he flipped the other two cards over. The second card, La Mort. The third, La Mort. Quickly he grabbed the rest of the deck, flipping frantically through them all; but still all the same. La Mort. There was only one of each kind in the deck, he drew each and everyone himself, how was this possible. His cards always gave him warning, but this was extreme. Then it hit him.   
He quickly stood up, dropping his cards on the bedroom floor. When he looked over to the large bed that sat in the center of the small room, he froze. He felt his heart drop even further, now feeling as if it were trying to burrow itself into his stomach. There, laying in the soft, light bed was the unmoving, pale corpse of John Segundus. 

Three Days Later

Childermass did not let him leave, he couldn’t, not when there was something to be done. The body that once belonged to John Segundus laid on the center of the bed, his figure covered in a thin white veil, dulling the pale man’s skin even further. Everyone mourned, but none in the same way Childermass did, not even Mr. Honeyfoot. They mourned the loss of a friend and a gentle soul, the loss of someone that could do no wrong. But Childermass lost so much more. He lost his soft voice, he lost his hopeful eyes, he lost the dimples that formed when he smiled, he lost his warmth. He lost his heart.   
He paced back and forth, eyeing the books that scattered along the floor of the Strange’s guest room, the books of magic. He had contemplated it, ever since his passing, but the thoughts of possible consequences had always given him pause. He read and searched for any other means, a way that didn’t serve to be untrustworthy or possibly ineffective. But, as Childermass rarely did, he came out empty handed. He had to do it, it was the only way. The risk, in Childermass’ mind, did not exceed the pain that he felt he would never be able to free himself of. The pain that made him numb, that caused him to recede into silence. The man quickly grabbed a single book that rested on the dresser and flipped it open. He reached for the small knife that he had kept as a defense, or in the more common case, to slice apples. Reading over a few pages that he had opened, he took a deep breath and looked down at the figure, lifting the veil off of his pale and fragile features.   
“Forgive me,” Childermass whispered before he lifted his hand over the man, clenching the blade.   
He closed his eyes, he remembered. The invitation, the tin can, the bird, the cards, the kiss. He opened his eyes just as he sliced his hand, dripping his blood onto the face of his apprentice. He concentrated on the spell and once complete, he yanked his hand back in pain, quickly finding a cloth to wrap it in. Once covered, Childermass quickly drew his attention back to Segundus, watching his form for any hint of movement, absolutely anything. 10 seconds, 5 minutes, 30, an hour. It didn’t work, he failed, he was gone. And there was nothing Childermass could do.


	14. White Carnations

Two Months Later 

It was sweet, simple and honest, just like the man it was held for. John Segundus found himself without family, leaving the funeral to be held by friends and loved ones. Although there were very few guests, the weight of grief was no lighter, there was no shortage of sorrow. It wasn’t very large, it wasn’t extravagant, it just was. Arabella Strange’s brother, Henry Woodhope, was a priest of a fairly small church in the countryside, a few miles from York. Here, John Segundus’ close friends and a few acquaintances gathered to remember the young magician, the man who only wished to make a difference in the world.   
White Carnations, that was the flower that Childermass chose. The flower meant to represent the life that the passed had lived, filled with fascination and determination. Each guest wore one on their lapel or in their hair, and when Mr. Honeyfoot, Mr. and Mrs. Strange, and Childermass carried John Segundus’ coffin to his final resting place, the carnations were carried with him. As they lowered his body into the Earth, Arabella, Mr. Honeyfoot and his family let out cries of sorrow as dirt covered the maple box. Then it was done, John Segundus had left the earth, leaving his determination and fascination to live on in his friends and loved ones.   
But Childermass showed no emotions, stood unwavered, unmoved during the memorial and burial. Not a single tear dropped, not a single word spoken, nothing. He ignored the couple who watched him with downcast eyes, the couple he had confessed his secret to. For he could not mourn more than a man who had lost a student, no more than a man who lost a friend. That was until he reached Hurtfew Abbey, a house swallowed in solitude, and drowning in loneliness. He stepped no more than five steps into the home before he couldn’t take it anymore.   
“GOD FUCKING DAMMIT,” he screamed at the top of his lungs as he grabbed the candelabra that stood aside the staircase and threw it at the wall, smashing a mirror in the process.   
The crashing noise accompanied Childermass’ rage as he ran to the study, not caring where the halls took him, but he reached his destination nonetheless. His ears felt as though cotton had been stuffed inside them, his eyes accompanied by a film of tears, and his heart… physically ached, as if it were ripped in half and sewn back together with thorns. His rampage did not end here however, Childermass grabbed books from the walls, throwing them across the room, flipped tables from their positions, knocking more items onto the stone floor. He screamed, screamed and screamed and stopped. He stood in the center of the chaos he had created, looking around at what he had done. He sobbed, falling to his knees, clasping his head in his hands. Once out of his fit of rage, the wave of grief washed over him, drowning him in his own tears. Tears he hadn’t felt in years. 

One Month Later 

Spring was beginning to arrive, animals began to wake, flowers were born, and the sky reclaimed it’s vivid blue. But John Childermass noticed none of this, he couldn’t hear the sounds of birds chirping, he couldn’t smell the fresh flowers, and he couldn’t feel the sun’s warmth. Few had tried reaching the man they called friend, and all came out unsuccessful; he received no visitors, answered no letters, and not a soul spoke of him leaving his home. Hurtfew Abbey was a ghost’s home, or so it would seem, if it weren’t for the occasional chirps from Segundus’ bird inside, only silenced once fed. Childermass knew he would’ve wanted someone to care for it, and he knew if he kept it, then he would have a piece of the man he lost.   
“Will you shut it!” Childermass yelled at the bird, who sat in it’s cage aside the main door, as it chirped rather frantically.   
He stepped out of the dining room, his hands covered in ink from the new set of tarots he was illustrating to replace the tainted, and made his way over to the cage to see what all the fuss was about. As he peered into the small creature's cage, watching the bird stare back with an almost audacious look, when he heard the sound of something hit the door from the outside before landing on the stoop. Childermass stood for a moment before reaching over to the door and opening to reveal the sunlight that desperately creeped into the entryway. He looked around to find no one around, and when he looked down he spotted the week’s newspaper. This was strange, normally he would have to go into town to purchase the news, there was no delivery boy that came out this far. But nonetheless, Childermass picked up the paper and carried it inside, locking the door tightly behind him.   
He entered the kitchen, tossing the paper onto the countertop, before opening the small jar of birdseed he had kept by the sink. For such a small bird, it ate easily three times it’s fill and still seemed hungry, something Childermass could relate with. It wasn’t until later that night, as he sat in the kitchen with a small bowl of soup he had made the previous night, with a single lit candle that the newspaper was revisited. He spotted it on the countertop and fetched it before opening it as he sat down, reading the various bold headlines, waiting for any to catch his interest. Then he saw it, the one that did.   
Culprit in London Market Shooting, Institutionalized. Childermass read the article that explained the shooting in rather vague, misleading and romantic detail. As he read, his mind flashed back to that day, the day he first almost lost Segundus. He thought back to the churning in his gut, the gun, Segundus, and the woman who shot at him, Lady Pole. The same woman who they had promised to help the previous night, the same woman who spoke in rhymes and ushered the man out of her house only a few hours later. Perhaps his first interpretation was wrong, perhaps the Lady was mad and in need of care. But something inside him felt uneasy, as if it were trying to tell him something. But what? What else was there to say?   
He needed to know, he couldn’t just leave the feeling in to fester, he needed answers. Childermassed let out a small, simple laugh, perhaps this was how Segundus always felt, the urge to never let things be. 

Elsewhere 

He was still holding the man’s hand when he arrived at the new but familiar location. He looked around at the fog that surrounded him, framing the dark twisted trees and other strange objects that littered the forest floor.   
“Follow me, John Segundus,” the Gentleman said as he turned away and began to walk in a certain, yet uncertain direction.   
Segundus quickly did as he was told, for he did not want to be stuck in this fog for anylonger than he had to. The Gentleman was much further ahead, which caused Segundus to struggle to keep up. But it wasn’t much of a walk before they arrived to their destination with familiar large white doors. The Gentleman pushed the large doors open with no hesitation, causing a subtle breeze to brush past the two men.   
“Welcome back, John Segundus,” the Gentleman bellowed, walking into the large room.  
As soon as the words left the strange man’s mouth, the room flooded with white and grey ball gowns and suits, bleeding from the walls, pouring into the center of the room. Segundus couldn’t help but stare as the grotesque faces swirled around the center tree that loomed over the dance, gracing each and every step with its sharp branches. It wasn’t long before the gentle man that stood by the entrance was quickly grabbed, dragged into an unfamiliar dance. The Gentleman appeared in front of him, holding his arms as he led in a waltz. Segundus desperately tried to escape when he regained his bearings but his feet did not turn, his hands did not release, it was as if his body refused his mind.   
“Some find it incredibly difficult to remain in my kingdom. But in the end, they all beg to stay,” the Gentleman said, breaking away from the dance and gestured to the space behind him.   
As the Gentleman moved out of his view, Segundus watched as a man stepped forward, his head down as he bowed. When he lifted his head, he revealed to be none other but John Childermass. When Segundus met his eyes, he felt a sort of daze overcome him, drowning out any other thought that dared graze his mind. Childermass stood before him, dressed in a similar white suit that he had donned the other night, a color which Segundus thought he might never see him in again. Segundus found himself untouched by the surrounding dancers for a moment, a moment in which he savored. He looked through the crowd when he spotted a familiar face; a face which he did not expect to see in such a strange land. Lady Pole turned her head so that she could watch John Segundus stare back, a horrified look on her face. Her face resembled that of one who has witnessed murder, pale as a ghost and eyes wide. Segundus stared back, the peculiarity of the situation catching his attention the most.   
“What’s the matter?” Childermass asked, his eyes soft and gentle, almost as if he hadn’t slept in days.   
“We need to get out of here…” Segundus began, but he felt his words trail off as he stared at the romantic-eyed man.   
“Why is that?” Childermass asked, not breaking eye contact with the shorter man.   
“...Because...this-isn’t real…” Segundus struggled to say, almost as if he were drifting off to sleep.   
He glanced around and watched the faces that decorated the room melt into soft, friendly looks. He knew what was happening, he knew that he couldn’t fall for it...this wasn’t...real.   
Just when he looked back, Childermass leaned in and pushed his lips onto Segundus,’ wrapping the duo in a passionate kiss. They both closed their eyes as the kiss was exchanged, their bodies unmoving as the rest danced around them. When the duo broke from the exchange, Segundus wore a genuine smile as his face changed from struggle to pure bliss. Lady Pole rose and weaved her head through the crowd to keep an eye on her friend, and when she witnessed the enchantment become complete, she was mortified.   
“Mr. Segundus!” She yelled, desperately trying to break his gaze, but to no avail.   
As the couple danced, they disappeared from Lady Pole’s view for a moment, and when they returned, Segundus wore a gentle suit of white, doned with accents of gems. The items glistened as he moved, only amplifying the man’s fairness. The man twirled with the enchantment, laughing and smiling as he moved. He looked into the false Childermass’ eyes with such devotion that he looked as if he might collapse. It was too late, John Segundus was gone.


End file.
